Sleepless, Magical Night
by Morganna Faye
Summary: "They were lying next to each other, beneath them the dark green grass and above them the eternity." Henry and Ella find time to talk and acknowledge that it was Regina who inspired Ella to stay. But the following day might just be a very special anniversary, and Henry's mom will need all the help and strength she can get not to fall apart. [Regina/Regal Believer Centric]
1. Chapter 1

The darkness of the night surrounded them, flooded their bodies and faces until they were nothing but blurred features, their selves dissolved to muffled voices under a sky full of stars.

Henry and Ella lay next to each other, beneath them the dark green grass and above them the eternity. Both were supposed to be sleeping but had been shifting on their austere beds, while dreams had made no move to take them into their restful arms.

Henry had given up first; quietly sneaking through the night with only his blanket to accompany him, unintenionally heading in the direction of his mother's sleeping place. But as he had arrived and seen that a lantern was lit and his mom was kneeling on her bed, her arms wrapped around her shivering torso, he had quietly moved back into the darkness of the sleeping camp. His mother's nightmares were not his burden to carry; she had made that clear in the countless nights they'd spent at their mansion together, when he'd heard her scream in the room next to his until it occurred to her to cast a silencing spell.

Ella had leaped up from her straw mattress fast and determined, picking up her thin blanket and running off into the night. The silence of too many people had weighed her down, and she'd fled to a meadow in the woods, where no one seemed to sleep for lack of safety. She didn't mind, though, had lived dangerously in her stepmother's house for too many years to care. So she sat on the glade and stared up at the night sky, wondering where the moon might be hiding.

After about ten minutes, a couple of dark clouds had finally moved and uncovered the sight of the shimmering silver moon. Ella had been too mesmerized by the view to notice the shadowy figure sneaking up on her.

"Cinderella!"

She'd jumped, grabbing her short dagger, which was always securely strapped to her side, until the ghostly figure stepped out into the faint moonlight.

"Henry," she breathed, her heart still beating fast and hard in her chest, or had it just begun to do so? She quickly pulled herself together, standing up and straightening her sleep-deprived spine. "It's Ella, by the way. I won't have myself kicked around like that ever again."

She expected him to laugh at her, or to throw her a questioning look, but instead, he just smiled and nodded. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Have you been following me?" Ella narrowed her eyes, still touching the dagger's hilt and not intending to let go until he'd have disappeared again.

"Of course not. I'm no stalker," Henry answered lightly, feeling his leaden heart lift just by the sound of her—admittedly not very welcoming—voice.

Her brows creased, but her sticky hands let go of the dagger, rubbing her palms to clean them from the bits of leather remnants from the old dagger's hilt. "It certainly looked like it," she replied, but couldn't seem to return that bold suspiciousness to her voice. "And what's a _stalker_?"

Henry laughed nervously, scratching his head. "Uh, that's a word from my homeworld. It describes someone who's… being a creep. Acting odd."

"Unlike you, I see." Ella raised her brow, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Somehow the darkness seemed to have lifted, and she noticed each of Henry's features so clearly it could as well have been broad daylight. The darkness inside of herself had faded, too, and given place to some kind of warm light she didn't recognize. "What's that homeland you're always talking about, anyway? Filled with ridiculous words and bizarre vehicles, seems to suit you, though."

"Why thank you," Henry chuckled, barely feeling his arms getting heavy and the night's cold that crept all over his body. "I guess you can't sleep either, so why don't we team up and lie down, and I'll tell you about this weird place I'm from."

Ella merely nodded, grabbed her blanket and spread it out on the ground. It was quite big, but not big enough to use it as both a mattress and a cover. Henry seemed to notice, too, as his face was both brightening up with the light of an idea and faintly flushing with nervousness. "Night's cold," he stated, fiddling with the seam of his sleeves, "But I don't suppose any of us wants to fetch our mattresses, so why don't we lie on your blanket and cover us with mine. Not that… just to keep us warm, you know. Wouldn't want us to freeze to death before we've even _begun_ to confront Lady Tremaine."

"Indeed, that would be something," Ella mumbled, her gestures more or less reluctantly inviting him to the other side of her blanket. They lay down, Ella's left and Henry's right arm both touching the grass because neither of them wanted to move any closer to the middle.

But after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Henry began to talk, about cars and coffee and a small town in Maine; and in return, Ella told him about her favorite places in this realm, about ragged, breathtakingly beautiful cliffs, the wild, rough, blue sea and deep, green forests. Neither of their stories was particularly emotional, or personal, but as the night dragged on and it became two o'clock and three o'clock, their voices dropped to the kind of intense whisper that had relevant things to tell. Long ago had their hands touched, their bodies moved closer, until they were almost snuggled together under the never judging eyes of the stars.

* * *

The moon had disappeared behind gray clouds, the night air was fresh and silent, when Henry suddenly remembered his mom, lonely shivering in her bed. His features softened and saddened. He knew it had been the right thing to do to sneak away, because if he had tried to comfort her she'd only have put on her mask and he wanted her to use it as little as possible. Still, too many images of his mom trembling with fear or tears or mere loneliness were stuck inside of his head, and they kept replaying every time a new situation like that occurred. A single tear slipped out of his eye and down his cheek.

Ella could not see the tear, but she felt his mood shifting. What had been warm and cozy just seconds ago was now sad and guilt-ridden.

"Henry," she whispered in the direction of the spot where she suspected his face. "What's going through your mind? You can tell me."

"It's nothing." Henry tried to smile, but it was not like Ella could see him anyway, even if he had managed to curve his lips upside. "I'm okay," he sniffled, condemning himself for not being as tough as his mom steadily was.

Ella surprised him, though. "Perhaps," she remarked, her gaze glued to the stars. "But, let me guess, someone you care about isn't."

 _How'd you know?,_ Henry wanted to ask, because knowing what the other one thought was a Snow-and-David-kind of thing, or Belle-and-Gold, or even Regina-and-Robin… he quickly shoved the thought aside.

"I don't want to talk about it," he responded instead, even though he knew that this might destroy the magic of the night. But Ella seemed to have warmed up to him, as she didn't close off, but placed her head on her crossed arms and opened her mouth.

"If you don't want to talk, maybe I should," she began. "I've got some things to confess. I almost ripped your heart out yesterday night. _The Heart of the Truest Believer,_ as my stepmother said."

Henry blinked, once, twice, it was not what he'd expected. But he knew better than to lash out at her, knew better than to reply to a statement like this at all, because he had learned a very long time ago that it was crucial for every relationship—no matter which kind—to let everyone tell their story _before_ judging.

And Ella talked. She didn't tell him everything, only small pieces, fragments of the vast and complex truth, but enough to make him understand. It turned out she was a disastrous storyteller, just dreadful, her sentences often left unfinished and the names and places all confused. It was the complete opposite of Henry, whose whole 'normal', 'happy ending' teenage life had been dedicated to telling stories the most interesting and expressive way he could think of (if he hadn't been studying days long for tests about things he'd missed in the first seven years of his school life), but he loved listening to her anyway, her voice was a little rough around the edges and melody to his ears.

* * *

After fifteen minutes of talking about the past, her story came to the previous day, her fingers drawing circles on the back of her left hand.

"And do you know who caught me attempting to remove Jeremiah's heart?" Ella gave a rueful, regretful smile Henry couldn't see but hear in the strain of her voice. Before he could even think of a person (back in the old days it would've likely been Snow, Princess of Hope Speeches), she declared, "Regina. It was your mother, Henry. She kept me from doing something I'd regret all my life, and she is the reason I'm still here and not on my mare off to nowhere."

"Magic," Henry smiled, though it was new and frightening to him that Ella had wanted to leave, thankfulness rushed through his body in warm waves. He had initially wanted his mom by his side because he sensed that nothing awaited her in Storybrooke, nothing that could make that faint smile of hers grow wider. He had wanted to show her—because it was true!—that there were many more stories out there, waiting for her, if she felt like her happy beginning had not truly begun yet. Then he had realized that he, too, longed for her to come with him, that he might have grown up, but it didn't mean their shared life was over. But it was only now that he understood it was more than him who needed his mom, it was the whole world. Her job was not done yet, and she would go insane being stuck in Storybrooke with the same, 'sickeningly happy' people for the rest of her life. She had gone through (literal and metaphorical) hell and come out alive, and someone like this was exactly what others needed most.

"Not magic," Ella explained—although he had meant the figurative kind—, "words. Henry?"

"Yes?"

"Your mother is a beautiful, wise woman, you know that?"

He smiled, taking her hand in his, and it came so naturally, she must have felt it too because instead of withdrawing it, she squeezed his fingers and entwined them with hers. His palms were soft and gentle, and hers were raw and warm.

"I do," Henry admitted wholeheartedly. "Believe it or not, it took me some time, but I truly do."

They were both on the verge of getting sleepy, but they were not willing to let go of this night yet. A sleepless, magical night where they didn't have to acknowledge anything, not the cozy, fiery, growing something in their hearts and nothing beyond. A night to feel finally at peace. A night that would have never existed if not for that woman with the stony outside.

"I sure hope so," Ella answered, a few minutes late. "Your mother seems so strong on the surface, hard even. But no one gives such speeches if not for a terribly deep soul."

"Indeed," Henry whispered. "Deeper than most."

Soon they fell asleep with only their clasped hands connecting them, and finally, the moon appeared again, shining upon their peaceful faces.

* * *

Thank you for reading! :) I hope you enjoyed it.

This might become a Two Shot, maybe also a couple more chapters. My mother language is not English, so I appreciate it if you want to tell me any mistakes you found or if you want to beta it. I'd be delighted about reviews :)


	2. Chapter 2

The dark sky was already fading, shy sun rays spraying their glittering, orange glamour across the horizon. It was early, the grass was wet with morning dew. Nobody was awake yet, nor would they be for about the next two hours.

Still, something brought Henry to open his eyes. He woke up, startled and shivering, only to see a slim shadow disappearing into the trees.

He thought to have heard a sniffle, like a silent cry for help, and he wanted to rush after the mysterious figure. But one of his arms had gone dead, and as he looked down, he saw Ella's still face, restfully snuggled up at his side. Her brown curls tickled his palm. She even smiled in her sleep; the genuine smile Henry had been missing in the darkness of the night.

He lay back, closed his eyes, and soon the shadow had become no more than a forgotten piece of his dreams.

* * *

"There you are, lovebirds!"

A loud, pitiless voice startled them awake. Ella blinked, the scorching sunlight reaching her eyes, and instantly she cuddled closer into the warm embrace on her right side. Her tousled hair was nothing in comparison to her damp, dirty clothes sticking to her body in the most uncomfortable of ways. Waking up didn't seem like the wisest choice.

Sadly, having choices was just another very human illusion.

"We're no lovers, Tiana," Henry protested, sitting up and rubbing his head. Ella sighed as he took all warmth with him. He looked just as a mess as she did, she thought as she picked herself up, the cold air slowly returning her consciousness. Still, her legs were wobbly as she stood up, and she had to lean on Henry for support.

"Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night," Tiana replied without even as much as the blink of an eye. "Or it probably keeps you from sleeping, by the look of it. I don't care." She watched them skeptically as they grabbed their blankets and backed away—it was probably meant to look casual—from each other as much as they possibly could.

"Look, I didn't come here to interrupt your little whatever, but because I have a question for you, Henry Mills," her voice was too sharp for him not to instantly straighten his spine, "Our spies have brought alarming news. As you might know, Ella, Lady Tremaine has a remarkably huge army on her side, and they're camping east of Fog Forest. But tonight she's ordered for them all to seek shelter in one of the nearby villages. I'm concerned whether she's planning something and we should move our people. Henry, do you think your mother will agree to a spontaneous meeting? I've got a feeling she's capable of more than just a couple of magic tricks."

"Yeah, why not," Henry replied. "We're here to help, after all. But why are you asking me and not her?"

"Can't you guess?" Tiana—schedule tight as always—had already made a move to turn around, but now she stopped and met his gaze, something undefinable shimmering in her eyes. "It's not like I won't ask her, too, but if you agree it'll basically be settled. You're the only thing keeping her here, huh."

* * *

Another gust of wind whirled over the wooden table, once again taking the map and throwing it at the nearest tent. Tiana had one of the eager little children fetch it and asked another to find her a few heavy stones.

"April's gonna kill me someday," the leader groaned, gratefully accepting the rocks and placing them on the four corners of the map. She stood back, contemplating while tapping her fingers on the back of her left hand.

"If I get this right," she pondered aloud, "We've ruled out all the sleeping spells, most of the potions, and a few curses. So what is it that… Regina?"

Tiana regarded Henry's mother for a moment, a frown creasing her face.

They were both standing in front of an old meeting tent around a massive table, a drawn map of the Enchanted Forest taking up all the space. Regina was leaning heavily on the table surface, her fingers slightly trembling with something not quite definable.

Tiana had found her still asleep, resting under the old oak tree. Though she wouldn't have called it rest; Regina had been shifting in her slumber, her back pressed against the tree trunk as if seeking protection. Tiana had moved closer with a kind of caution she was usually—and rightfully so—said to lack. But before her fingertips had even reached the fabric of Regina's cover, the other woman had flinched, her eyes wide open in a split second. The leader had then slowly backed away, watching Henry's mother as she sat up with a sharp elegance, her eyes only reluctantly regaining their focus.

Or maybe they hadn't. The whole morning, Regina's gaze had been slightly glassy—clouded and distant—and if Tiana didn't know any better, she'd say Regina was not there at all, a black and white ghost in a world full of color.

It had honestly surprised her (something that was anything but easy) to acknowledge Regina's change of mood. Just yesterday had a fire gleamed in her smile, and Tiana had been curious about that woman as she could see both the light and darkness of life in her eyes.

Tiana's respect had not at all been dimmed since then, though. Albeit looking like she'd had no sleep in days, Regina had immediately agreed to a meeting and had taken the lead as Tiana confessed that she had about no idea of the spells and potions and cryptic prophecies Lady Tremaine may have in mind. Henry's mother was never fully there, but anyway, she sounded like discussing magic was something she could do in her sleep.

"There is another thing to consider," Tiana declared, not bothering to await a reaction if not absolutely necessary. "In the history of our realm, there is one huge hole in the middle of a—in comparison with the Great Wars—relatively peaceful time. Within one single night, several hundred villages just… vanished, and never came back. They say it was the biggest tragedy ever to happen, not because the most people were lost, but because no one knew for which purpose. Rumors were that a witch was involved as well as a terrifying curse. Would—"

The wind pulled at Tiana's hair, painfully whipping it against her face. Regina's elaborate hairdo loosened, a hairpin scratching her face only millimeters beside her eye. Instead of dying away, the wind grew stronger, howling above them and whirling through the sand beneath their feet.

Tiana narrowed her eyes to prevent the dust from blinding her, reaching out with her hands to grab the table, but her sense of direction was messed up, and she tripped over a stone instead, heavily falling on her knees.

In a matter of minutes, everything descended into chaos.

The wind was coming from a slightly different angle this time, not necessarily stronger, but it swirled up the sand and made it almost impossible to see and react. Tiana heard the cry of the little boy who'd been so earnest while bringing her the stones. He was weeping, hugging himself while holding his eyes tightly shut. Through the whirling sand, Tiana could see that he was running into the direction of the table, being its exact height, and about to hurt his head badly. Her first reaction was to yell for him to stop, but her words drowned in the howling wind.

Another, barely audible voice began to shout, an unrecognizable silhouette half stumbling, half running forward and wrapping her arms around the little boy. The child stood still in surprise, then the figure's features shook and she collapsed to the ground, holding the boy in a secure embrace.

Tiana finally clung to the wooden table legs, closing her eyes and waiting for the wind to settle.

* * *

It was getting darker by the minute.

The sky was overcast with gray clouds, shifting and piling up and weaving together, creating even darker, thicker and more gigantic ones. Soon enough, it was not the whirling sand blinding them, but the utter and absolute darkness filling every corner, every tent.

Hadn't Regina learned a lifetime ago that emotion mattered with regard to magic, but had terribly little influence on nature, she would have seriously considered the current weather to be reflecting her mood.

Dark, twisted and dramatic had the storm overcome them all; but it came with no thunder, no lightning, just a grim tension in the air and a loss of orientation splitting the camp into hundreds of pieces, people fighting the unstoppable on their own instead of united. With the storm came the loneliness. There was no evacuation program going on; no safety provided because all they could do was cower and pray to whatever deluded gods they might believe in (Regina had never believed in God nor had most in her homeworld; they rather fought about gold and property than religions. And after learning that at least Greek gods were all too real, there was no way she'd ever again beg for a god to do anything but please throw themselves into Lost Soul's River).

Regina knew she had been on edge most of the day, or more like already having jumped off the edge and now being in free fall. But she couldn't help it, had been falling from too many cliffs to remember how it felt to be near to the stars.

There was no rain involved in the storm yet, but still, Regina's cheeks were wet. Because today, she couldn't even remember the touch of the sun. Today, she could imagine giving up, ending her all too painful free fall and finally, finally crashing to the ground. Today, she couldn't recall why she'd ever tolerated the fall just because it had kept her alive. Why she'd held on to the pain, still never getting to catch a breath long enough to find the stairs up to the place where the sky provided protection and the sun offered warmth.

The gentle touch of tears caressed her cheeks, trickling down her chin. They went unnoticed by the world, carefully hidden by the almost smooth darkness, but that was how Regina had always handled things and how she found at least the comfort of familiarity.

And there was this child in her arms. He had his thin hands wrapped around her neck, his sobs long become silent as if fearing that the storm would hear them and hunt them down. She cradled him to her chest, grateful for the boy's blissful unawareness of her tears glittering on his light brown curls. He tensed in her embrace every time another tree branch collapsed to the ground producing an admittedly horrifying, thunderous sound.

The first few times, he had cried for his mama to come, only calming down when Regina repeatedly drew soothing circles on his back. He had then asked her for her name; assuring her that he'd tell her his in return. Regina had agreed shakily, another small face with another pair of dark brown eyes in mind. She had opened her mouth, but the words had twisted in her throat, and she couldn't remember what she was supposed to answer to a simple, basic question like this.

And what if he now believed that her name was Roblandgina? It would cause no harm to anyone (she'd never counted herself to be included in general terms) and what did it matter, soon the boy would be safe and sound and happily forgetting that there had even been any odd-named woman at all. And anyway, he'd simplified her name like most kids did, shortened it to an edged and painful 'Gina.'

Every so often, they'd hear noises in the distance, words muffled by the howling wind, and occasionally nothing more than a desperate scream. The first time, Regina had tried to take the boy and stand up, because maybe there were more people out there who were so helpless support or no support could be a matter of life or death.

But it was not only the frightened boy's weeps that stopped her. She could physically not rise, the wind pushing her back to the ground harder with every attempt. And because Regina had never been a woman to be defeated easily, five peaceful years or not, it took several aggressive cuts—on her hands, mostly—from sharp stones and a sprained ankle for her to finally give up and kneel in the dirt, providing the wind as little attack surface as possible.

"Mom!" It was the first time she could detect a word through the deafening noise, and her heart clamped in her chest. A child, defenseless in the middle of a panicked camp, stumbling around but not getting anywhere. It hurt like hell, this feeling of personal failure. It pained her as though she had created this storm herself because today, her walls were down and she was bleeding out. She'd seen, inflicted and felt more pain in her life than she could bear to think of, but if she was to witness any kind of loss today, it just might break her completely open and leave her to bleed to death.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her teeth and hugged the child in her arms, trying not to stain his clothes with the blood seeping out of the cuts on her hands. Oh, how she wished for her magic. But if it was the messy condition she'd woken up in or if it had something to do with the weather, the power was hiding deep inside her, just out of her reach.

"Mom, Mom, _please,_ " frantic pleading reached her ears, shooting right through her—today nonexistent—protection walls, stinging her sore heart. "Mom."

Something stumbled right in front of her, causing Regina to blink through the darkness. A face was hovering only inches before her eyes.

"Mom," it was something between a strangled laugh and a sob, and how could she not have noticed? Henry was hugging her from the side, squeezing her arm tightly, leaning against her shoulder. She felt his hot tears where the dress's fabric ended, and instinctively, she freed one of her hands from the tight grip of the child on her lap and ruffled through her son's hair, not at all feeling her sore palms.

"I found you," he whispered, and she cracked a silent, pained smile. It was one of those days where it was too easy to forget she had a kid herself; easy to forget that yes, she had done one purely good, lasting thing in her life; and he loved her, and he was not gone.

"I'm here," she breathed, and for a moment, she truly and wholeheartedly was.

* * *

"I thought… I thought I'd lost you." Henry's voice was hoarser than it should be, tearier than he deemed appropriate considering they were here now, and this was true. He reached for his mother's hand and gave it a light squeeze, and if Regina winced ever so slightly, he wouldn't notice.

Normally, his eyes would have become adjusted to the darkness by now, but this storm (he wondered if his mother had noticed that it had calmed down the second he came) was something else entirely, not only darkness for the lack of sun but from within, though he wouldn't know from within what.

"Henry." Regina's voice was curious, and he could quite clearly imagine her frown. "Henry, you've known me all your life, and you don't want to consider how long I lived before that." Her voice was light but utterly serious, and there was even more hidden beneath like always with her, things he couldn't and had never truly been able to decipher. "I've probably come close to death every two years. I _did_ die once," she chuckled, and it was so Regina a sound that he couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. "Or twice, or maybe never at all, but Henry, you're not going to lose me until you're ready. And certainly not to something as ridiculous as a storm. I mean, imagine that in your book: _'Once upon a time, an Evil Queen had finally given up on her revenge, going on adventures with her son. Snow White and her precious idiot had found their Happily Ever After in a small town in Maine. But oh, sadly, a petty little storm came up, and the former infamous Evil Queen just so happened to accidentally die.'_ "

"I'm pretty sure the 'accidentally' part was unnecessary," Henry teased, throwing Ella a glance of appreciation as she lifted the quiet little boy from Regina's lap, a little awkwardly taking his small hands and rubbing them to keep him warm. "Neither was that hurtful insult of Grandpa you've totally not used for the last seven years or so. But, I gotta admit, put it like that, and it does sound kind of laughable." He blinked the tears back and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve, giving some kind of half amused, half watery smile.

Her tone softened immediately. All that reunion stiffness was gone, and Henry found himself almost ridiculously relieved. "It's not," she assured him gently, her voice just slightly cracking, and he really wanted to bring her to someplace light now to make sure she was as okay as she pretended to be. "I worry, too, every second of every day. It's who I am. But, Henry, that doesn't mean it's who you have to be. I'm your mother; you don't need to look after me." Now that that little boy was safe beside Ella, Regina pulled Henry into her arms, holding him tight. She mumbled into his ear, "You wouldn't have needed to bring me with you, either. My own mother meddled in my life far too often. I'd never want you to feel like it's your obligation to care for me."

"And here was I thinking I'd made clear by now that I _want_ you with me, Mom," Henry responded firmly. "And I intend to keep it that way, so I guess we move this conversation to someplace safe, and warm. Before that 'petty little storm' swallows us whole."

("It won't, though, will it?" he heard the boy behind him whisper, looking at Regina instead of Ella. His mother attracted the love of children like a damn magnet.)

"So, are you alright—can you walk?" Henry inquired, frustration slowly soaking his voice because his night vision had still not improved the tiniest bit. And if he wasn't mistaken, he'd felt his mother trembling in his arms far more than the cold would justify.

"Of course I can."

Henry grumbled. "Should've figured that one. But, does it hurt if you do?"

"… no."

"Ella? I think I need some help here."

"You're hesitant to take her word for it?" Ella bit her lip to hide a smile none of them would notice anyway; she was curious as to the history of mother and son (had respectfully, if not a little reluctantly refused to overhear their conversation). They were so warm together, seemed so not afraid of saying the wrong things to each other, and maybe it was just a groundless assumption, but Ella felt like it was because they'd already said all the wrong words and already gone through phases of mutual hurt and rejection. If she was indeed right, though, or at least not entirely incorrect, whatever it was that had happened; they'd come out healed.

"I'm actually still waiting for the day my mom says she's fine and means it." Henry stumbled over his own words, pushing them out of his mouth as though it would make them any less tense. "What about we—"

"—what about you three lead the way, and I'll follow," Regina finished for him. She pushed herself off the ground, wavering a little and shifting her weight to her healthy foot. Sharp, white-hot pain forced her breaths to catch in her throat. She shut her eyes tight to prevent the hot tears from showing, feeling a little unsteady on her feet, the roaring wind—when had the storm lost its force, anyway?—anything but helping.

But physical pain she could deal with. Physical pain she'd always dealt with.

With the wind came a smell of forest.

Regina faltered.

No one reacted in time to catch her as she collapsed to the ground.

* * *

Bright light. Here and there the intrusive odor of petroleum. Torches, hot and fervent.

Regina's head pulsating with the rhythm of the bickering flames.

Her eyes squinted half open before a blinding beam intensified her throbbing headache.

"Not directly at her face, flashlights are… just, give it to me. The lamps will have to suffice."

Regina struggled to get up, finding only walls of fabric around her. She held back a frustrated huff when her ankle came dangerously close to betraying her again, sending sensations of pain through her veins.

She couldn't recall the last time she'd felt that kind of blind irritation, almost ire threatening to take her over. It was not yet a danger to the solid fortress that had been keeping her dark side at bay for years, but it was scratching at the paint, stirring up dust.

Because really, she'd never been in company on this particular day before, not counting the glasses of just a little too much alcohol to push her mind over the edge of rational thinking. And admittedly, no physical injury had restrained her since forever in a world where hygiene was an unknown term.

Her eyes closed in exasperation as she reached deep inside, painfully pulling at her will to fight, may the enemy be something as ludicrous as a weary body.

She was a changed woman. Improved and calm and so very optimistic (compared to before, at least). And on most days, she was. And on most days, it was who she wanted to be. But sometimes, it just wasn't enough, and it just wasn't the missing piece she'd so desperately been tracking down. And Snow would say that it was okay, that it was perfectly normal because she hadn't used that damn unlucky term enough in her life.

And it wasn't. It wasn't okay; it was not even normal. Because the number of bad days kept increasing, and although Regina was certain it would never again drop as low as in those dark decades before she'd cast her curse (two good days a year had equaled success) she suffered silently, putting up with every sting of hurt because she knew that eventually, it would pass and she'd never forget the time when she hadn't dared to desire more.

And pain wasn't pain if there was no reason for it, right? Seeking help for misery that was nothing more than an illusion was downright pathetic.

And she began to wonder if it was really possible for an entire town to simultaneously find their happy beginnings.

In the past, she'd at least had the excuse (though she'd claimed it to be the final truth) that villains didn't deserve happiness, but as Gideon grew up with his loving father and mother and Zelena's smile became easier every day, she realized that the Evil Queen had nothing to do with it.

And if it wasn't her dark part's bad karma, then her mother really had been right all those years ago, and it was entirely on her.

Maybe she was happy without recognizing the feeling.

None of her strategies had ever worked before; hiding hurt behind obedience (never satisfying her mother nor her husband); behind fury and somber cruelty; beneath a tight, rehearsed smile and shuttered eyes. So she began to study herself on the still many bright days, began to observe and imitate her smile and her motions and her voice. Until in dark times, she could fool those not looking too closely.

And love those seeing through her even more.

It was this mask that provided further happiness when her heart cramped painfully in her chest. It was the realization that Henry caught her nearly every time, and Zelena began to know her almost eerily well, and Snow and Emma, too, could maneuver their way around her walls if it was what they wanted. It was not entirely enough, but it kept her balanced, and it straightened her spine and lifted her chin when Henry decided to go, and all she wanted to do was to drink every single of her apple cider bottles and allow herself to crumble to a heap of despair.

"Mom."

She took Henry's extended hand, pushing herself off the blanket she was sitting on and regaining her balance, all the while building up a small, (meant to be) reassuring smile. Squinting repeatedly to acclimate her eyes to the warmly lighted tent, Regina realized she was not alone.

Inhaling, exhaling. The room was packed almost to the point of bursting, petroleum lamps carefully placed where they were least likely to set the rough fabric on fire. Every once in a while, a furious blast of wind rattled the improvised refuge.

Next to her, she saw three people lying on blankets like hers, all but one unconscious, a young woman in red leather bend over them with pieces of cloth and soothing balms.

Regina winced at nausea washing over her; heat caused by the warmth of bodies and outdated light sources making her skin crawl and her nails dig into her palms. Her teeth gritted as she so very carefully curled her hand into a fist. Thin traces of blood made their way across her knuckles, dripping to the ground.

"You're bleeding." Her son stood in front of her, so very tall and grown and strong, and wasn't it ironic, Regina mused faintly, that in the end, she was the shortest of them all. Just as the thought began to subside, though, she already failed to recall its irony.

And yes, she was bleeding, and she wondered how her son would notice, and how it'd come so far that he did.

Then, of course, he was talking about her bloodied fingers.

And the piercing wound on her forehead.

Those could be healed.

They might not even leave a scar.

"I'm fine," she assured, lifting her fingers just a little, noticeable enough to draw Henry's attention when they hovered in the air briefly before falling back to her side. No blood on her hands would ever be allowed to taint her son.

Because apparently, today was just a rough blanket, loose strands of metaphors and past and undefined present woven into something that couldn't quite pass as anything as of yet. She'd prefer it to remain vague, anyway. No clear picture, no sharp pain. Ending this day before it could be remembered.

Regina tried to force herself back to focus. 'Fine' had always had a certain edge of misuse when uttered by her, but one thing she'd attempted it to mean was control, if not of her emotions then at least of her masks. And though she'd had so many joyful moments, delighting days with her only mask being makeup (sometimes not even that) over the last years, she was still Regina and happy didn't have to equal soft.

"Certainly," Henry scowled, then gesturing to the people laid out on the ground. "You know, none of them are hurt. Two passed out because of the shock; and that woman over there's been feverish for the last few days, nothing serious, nothing caused by the storm. Mom. You're the only one in pain."

"I'm not; they're just cuts. There's worse. So much worse." She knew that, and she'd felt it (could still feel it, in her nightmares) and yet, the words came out clipped, slurred due to her headache pounding away at her.

"Thanks for the reassurance, Mom, but I actually think you should get those looked at," Henry declared, suddenly turning his head, his whole posture shifting and somehow brightening at every possible angle. Ella stepped up to them, casually brushing Henry's hand, and Regina watched in awe as their little fingers touched, clasping and dangling.

And she remembered the damp grass and the silver morning light, and her son and this wonderful young woman lying in each other's arms, so innocent and utterly grown up likewise.

And she could still feel the warm and peaceful, soothing touches herself, sometimes just the fleeting brush of an arm or a hand on her shoulder. (And years had passed, but still, she'd be damned if she'd ever not remember.)

And suddenly, her eyes caught the little boy with the hazel curls, a young woman with soft eyes crouched beside him. And she considered the terrified people comforting each other, hugging tight and squeezing warm hands. The dangerous smell of flames and oil. The distant scent of wet soil and leaves.

There was no thunder, but the air was heavy and loaded.

Tension, she thought, the familiar and almost enticing (who was she trying to deceive, it was alluring in more than one way) tingle of magic.

They hadn't considered Lady Tremaine's soldiers to flee from something as elemental as a storm, and it was a lapse she wouldn't allow again, but this was not natural. Regina felt it; vibrating in her muscles and coursing through her veins. The storm was elemental, but not natural, and really, just a lot of accrued, dark energy, pushing at nature and coaxing the clouds and the wind to fully unfold their powers. Magic that wasn't Tremaine's (enough with that farcical 'Lady' title) but a few darkness-addicted wizards' who'd learned what they had from a couple of dusty books. Each one, of course, entirely commanded by Ella's stepmother.

But if they'd raised the storm as a display of might, they hadn't taken the Queen into account. (Regina thought darkly, grimly, her teeth clenching in spite of the pain or maybe because of it.) Her sense and skills of magic had had decades to grow and evolve, and as horrible and cruel a mentor as he had been, she'd been taught by the Dark One who'd had centuries of practice.

The storm had injured no one yet? Better make sure it never would. Their haven was frail. One blast too intense would rip this place apart.

She wasn't dying, she was just hurt.

And it was today. Maybe he'd be proud of her. (Or give her a shake for endangering herself, and then pull her into his arms and hold her, not only to comfort her but to make sure she was breathing and okay.) Or maybe she'd just stop thinking about him for a second, and it would be enough.

She painfully forced her hands into fists, probing her ankle and allowing her loose hair to cover the gash on her forehead. It wasn't all too deep, no real health hazard, just the warm trickle of blood combined with a firm headache.

All of these people here had received a milder version of this dark magical storm; they'd gotten to safety because of that. But Regina had magic seething inside of her, ready to bridge the gap ripped open by the force of combined power; almost ready for her to use it again. Magic had made the storm center around her, made her bleed, until Henry's and Ella's non-magic nature had calmed the wind down.

It was more intense when near her. More dangerous. Deadlier.

But well, she was the Queen (would always be, even without crown or kingdom) and for the moment, Henry was preoccupied.

So Regina half walked, half stumbled forward, lifted the tent flap with trembling hands and ventured outside, the wind pulling at her hair.

The darkness welcomed her, and soon she was encased.

* * *

So, I'm definitely going to need one/a few more chapters.

I hope you enjoyed. If you find mistakes, give them to me!

Reviews make me happy :)


	3. Chapter 3

She was alone.

A trickle of magic streamed through her skin, almost breaking through the paper-thin protection, but not yet quite strong enough to manage just that. It collected at Regina's gashed hands, roughly but still somehow gently pushing at the new breakthroughs.

She was coming apart so very quickly. The storm was tearing at her, inside and out, and she moved forward thoughtlessly and harshly, uncaring of her own needs. Wounds that had to be attended to. Tears that heated up her eyes, hot and furious and at the same time vulnerable and desperate. She was not only shoving her well-being aside but dropping it to the ground, walking right over it as she went on.

The darkness hid her pained stumbling, her struggle to find strength for each next step. (Wasn't that all it had ever done?)

Regina was fighting against the wind, and she didn't let herself pause for enough moments to admit that nothing of this was about Tremaine. All that mattered was that she was getting away from the tent with every elapsing minute, far enough for her to perform magic without hurting anyone should she fail.

Not that she would.

Not that she planned on it, anyway.

* * *

It was so dark she could as well have closed her eyes without it making a difference; yet somehow, Regina knew.

She took one last step, for a head-spinning moment feeling the brink beneath her shoes before stumbling backward, her knees almost buckling beneath her, sheer persistence keeping her upright. In the valley at the foot of the cliff, lights burned their path through the darkness. They were the torches outside of Tremaine's manor, and they defied the storm because it was their house it originated from.

Regina sank to the ground on her knees. Her left hand set lightly beside her, brushing through the cool earth to ground her. The wind wasn't pushing her forward anymore, but instead surrounding her, encircling her as if to ensure she stay in place. Her mind had gone adrift, almost peacefully melancholic if not for the painful strain of her thoughts struggling to free her emotions. Her hurting heart that had already caused so much damage in its swirling wake.

Regina reached out, her right hand catching a small whirl of air, enclosing it and sensing its energy.

That's when something broke free into her just barely quiet mind.

 _Emotion_ , it whispered.

Magic is emotion.

Magic is happiness. Magic is anger. But magic works just as well with hurt.

With pain.

As it all came crashing down on her, Regina's magic used the opportunity to etch away what little was left of her barriers, dancing on her skin like tiny needles. She pushed the energy out of her hands with considerable force (her power growing as she imagined pushing all the memories and hurt away). Her magic smoothed the way to the center of the storm in bright, magenta colors, where it twisted around the dark energy like a fist might enclose a rotten fruit. But the suppressed power thumped under her pressure, and soon Regina's magic began to hungrily search for more. More energy to keep smothering the wind.

But as no one else was near, the magic returned, drawing the needed fuel from its owner. Which—considering the amounts of emotion bottled up deep inside of Regina—made it uncontrolled and dangerous as it not only emerged from her hands, but then from her arms too, and from her feet up to her face. The magic had been fed with little care and much cruelty on from the day it had started its training, and it had never been taught to respect its possessor's needs.

Regina was a glowing ball of energy, and it was tearing at her with violent force. She'd battled monsters before, but never such elements.

If she continued, it would rip her apart at the seams.

If she continued, the exploding pain would be too much to handle (even for the most resilient Queen).

If she continued, her life force might get snuffed out like a tea light in the rain.

She would die without ever knowing if she'd taken the storm with her.

Nonetheless, it didn't feel like much of a choice. She had never known how to give up. She had never known how to stop fighting, even or maybe especially when it was her life on the line.

Regina crumbled, her magic still battling the storm with a sheer, raw force that might even have impressed Rumple, but without her control. She was curled on the ground in a tight ball, shivering in a desperate, violent way, glowing with pure, deadly energy. She had never heard of consuming magic that worked quite that rapidly. Then again, Rumple had probably never considered her to—

It was blood without bleeding.

It was a light, so glaring it bathed the world in darkness.

It was a complete and breathtaking loss of herself.

One tiny little push and the wind would—

Regina could almost hear the angels crying. Although hysteric sobbing would probably describe the sound more accurately… someone was begging her to stop.

But she was so close. So, so close. She'd had no victory to herself in such a long time.

Warmth dipped her shoulders, and for a moment, the pain dissipated. Warmth coursed through her bloodstream. It was too gentle. So provokingly caring. Someone cradled her in such a familiar way. Someone held her damaged hand lightly. Someone made the storm calm down around them.

Her raw hurt dissolved and made room for some kind of silence. The world untangled. Regina could feel her body again, the aching but also the absence of imminent death.

"Henry," she whispered, her fight used up to the core. The clouds and hazes in her sight dispersed slowly.

Henry opened his mouth and closed it again, his jaw working forcibly. His face was contorted into an ugly mask of emotions, tear streaks on his cheeks, dirt in his hair, but there was such sharp, apparent anger written all over his features. Regina flinched back visibly, curling up in a semi-circle again (clear proof that she wasn't yet back to the entirety of her senses).

Her son balled his hand into a fist, his knuckles standing out almost white. Regina noticed, with ugly, dark feelings twisting in her throat, that tears were still slipping down his cheeks, and though all her motherly instincts screamed for her to get up and soften his sadness, she remained in place, the hard mask that was his face refraining her from moving closer.

"Who were you thinking about?" Henry inquired, his tone a mix of anger and exasperation. "Because it was not me, Mom. Emma, either. Or Snow. Or anyone." He was almost sobbing the words now, half screaming, his—although much deeper—voice reminding her of his younger self in all the ways that hurt.

"I don't know how to stop you from doing this to yourself. I'm not prepared because I thought… I was so sure you were past this, I was so sure you were okay enough to… value your own life? Ever since you've got our family, you've been handling it so _carelessly._ And I know, I… remember how, when you were split, Emma used to tell you not to sacrifice yourself because I needed you. And that's completely true, but not right. Because, well, the second you come around and see me all grown up, you're trying to get yourself killed… again."

"I'm not… getting myself killed. Not trying to, anyway." Regina swallowed hard; that was a conversation no child should ever be forced to have with his mother.

She picked herself up, wincing as her mangled body protested tiredly. Still, she got on her knees and lifted her damaged hands to touch her son's face. "I once said true love was sacrifice… but Henry, don't you ever believe that. Love? Starts with oneself." Regina's smile was painfully forced, but genuine nonetheless. "Sacrifice is no real hero streak. Quite the opposite; it's one of the villains, former or not. Only people who've done too many terrible things in their lives ever to stop paying for them need that willingness to sacrifice themselves for the common good. Not ever you."

She cupped his face with her hands, merely holding his gaze in the same way she had when he'd been younger, then suddenly she was doubling over, gritting her teeth as nausea washed over her in crashing waves.

Henry's face, still lined with helpless anger, shifted into a horrified expression. He reached out to take his shivering mother in a supporting embrace.

"Mom."

"Henry."

"We need to get you help right this second."

"Are you still all crouching in that decrepit death trap?"

"I believe they call it 'tent.'"

"I can't head back yet," Regina explained softly, dropping their semi-serious banter. "My failed suppression of the storm may only have made it more aggressive. I… I'm not powerful enough to stop it, Henry, but I can find another way. I'll simply need to. Lives are on the line."

"Such as yours, Mom, have you even listened to me?" Henry saw Regina open her mouth, but he cut her off, gritting his teeth. "You're not taking this risk, and there's no arguing about it, okay? For once, try to think about what's best for you. And if that's not enough, well, then we'll have to work on that, but then do it for me. I need you. I want you in my life. Please, Mom."

"Only my son can make sacrifice sound selfish," Regina chuckled darkly, and it was a more than weak attempt to evade his pleas. "I'm so sorry, Henry—"

"You don't need to be." His voice became lighter and more determined with every word, and oh, she knew that tone so well. It was the sound of an idea forming. Usually for one of those operations of his that he'd grown too old to obsess about. "Then, well, let's not go back. But when you're going to try to leave me, I at least need to know what caused it. All of it. If you're still dead set against living then, I'll consider letting you try something not quite as deadly. For now, just sit with me. Mom."

Henry was her son, so of course, Regina knew he'd never let her go (on a trip he'd indicated was a 'suicide mission,' which really, earned her immediate attention) but the idea of spending time with him had always been her weakness.

Regina smiled affectionately, allowing herself a brief moment of wonder at that beautiful soul in front of her, that incredible young man her son had become.

Still, he was wrong, Regina mused deep in the chasms of her mind. She didn't desire to die.

Today, she just didn't remember how to live, either.

* * *

It was a short distance to the spot Henry had suggested to seek out. Regina kept up an urgent pace, her posture almost painfully rigid, silently cursing the dimness that settled down whenever a non-user of magic was close. The darkness was misty enough to discern faces, so if she were to glance at her son, he'd notice.

Therefore, she went even faster, to hide her slight limping and also to create enough distance between Henry and her so that the air around her would shadow at the edges, allowing her to take an unperceived look at him.

She was proud, and she was terrified. She'd always tried to keep pain from her son; anything that would hurt him, and anything that was hurting her. She had tried much more intensely due to the agony that had settled into her when she'd been so very young; and while trying, she had failed far more miserably than anyone else ever could have.

Now, he had grown up. And it hurt worse than Regina could have ever imagined. Her little prince had assured her that she was still needed; but even if he meant it, it was not the truth, not anymore. He could fend for himself and sought her protection no longer. Even worse, he could create his own life, his own story, without her.

And what had been their home for so very long was now hers, hers alone, fading and meaningless, as her palace had been all those years ago. And with her home, her fragile 'happy beginning,' too, dissipated into nothingness.

She took a determined step, pressing her injured foot in the ground, and the jolt of pain was welcomed.

It was dangerous, she knew, but what was a threat without anything to threaten. How to value her life when there was nothing inside of her that made any real sense. Nothing that mattered.

Regina's fingers closed around dead bark.

Still close to the edge of the cliff, there stood this tree. It was massive and leafless; long dead but refusing to fall. Regina slid down the stem until she met the ground, and there she remained, leaning against a dry root. Henry slumped on the dirt beside her, and they lifted their heads at the same time, gazing up at the tumultuous sky.

Moments passed in silence; not uncomfortable, but too aware to be unconstrained.

"About that girl—"

"Don't you dare, Mom."

"—what _is_ going on between you two?"

"Mom—"

"Humor me? Just for today." She grazed over the bark, her eyes closing, her head dropping against the tree trunk.

"I can't. I wish I could, I do, but we need to talk about this."

Regina knew, if she'd admit to her son in how much pain she was in, he wouldn't push her further (a trait that was most certainly influenced by both of his mothers). However, she'd never allow that to happen. So much; he'd seen too much already.

Henry gave her a look, and it was so entirely devastatingly heartbroken. Regina moved closer out of an old undying instinct, took his hand in hers. Her smile crumbled at the edges, finally broke.

"I suppose we should begin, then."

* * *

"I figured out what's so special about today," Henry whispered. He looked his mother straight in the eyes as the words left his mouth, and she shrunk back a little more, her troubled gaze darting to the alarmingly close ledge. "It's Emma Day, isn't it? Every year, I'd spend it with her, no matter whose turn it was."

Regina's smile was almost unnoticeable. "Indeed, Emma Day it is."

Henry bit his lip, and now it was him to appear more interested in the air than the person in front of him. He did his best to make it seem natural to him; not scary, but honestly, it was terrifying. His mom was… she was anything but open today, yet something had shifted. She was unfocused, vulnerable almost, and that scared him to death.

She was hurt, and absent Emma or Snow, he needed to help her.

 _Wanted_ to help her with everything he had.

"Is that why you're sad?" he suggested. "Because I'm not that little boy moving between the two of you anymore? Or—do you miss Mom?" (Over the years, he'd tried several names for each of them, but after a while and lots of unsuccessful efforts, he'd begun to adore that moment when he called for 'Mom,' and both looked up.)

"I do miss my friend," his mother answered mysteriously, wistfully.

"But that isn't the point, is it."

"Do you recall the origin of Emma Day?"

A shiver traveled across Henry's skin at her voice; both chillingly detached and thick with emotions, and he clung tighter to her slightly shivering hand. They were ice-cold, and only when Henry concentrated on the ugly cuts he could feel there, he sensed the torrid heat of her magic burning away at her. "Do you?"

"You wouldn't, would you," her voice a soft breath of air. "It was all so wonderfully domestic. You. Me. The town. I couldn't let one damn day ruin that beautiful dream. So I begged Emma to make something up. Not to request an explanation. She didn't." Bitter, harsh disappointment hardened her tone. "Because that's what friends are for, right? Do things without questioning. Only that was never our thing. She'd always push and pull at the most hazardous of strings. I suppose it just wasn't her business. Once upon a time, it would have been."

"You're making it really tough to figure out when you're playing the distraction card on me, Mom," Henry teased after a beat of silence, "and when I'm just being Emma's son and not smart enough to get what you're saying." It was meant to sound light, but not dismissive, and Henry thought with a small bit of pride in his heart that his moms had taught him well. If not quite intentionally.

Soft drips of water landed on his boots, and he drew them to his chest, snuggling closer to the old tree stem. Right above them were a few thick branches shielding them from the impending rainfall. His eyes drifted to the sky for a moment, and in the rubicund light of midday sun darkened by a thunderstorm, the setting seemed oddly vibrant, otherworldly.

"I would never play on you, Henry."

"That's disturbingly off track," he mumbled, noticing the almost cautiously delicate way she was holding herself together. "Even for a distraction. Anyway," he frowned. "How was Emma Day invented, then?"

"By Emma, obviously."

"Yeah, not so obvious. You know people don't usually proclaim their own honor day."

"It's Emma. Some things don't change." Regina chuckled, extending the hand that Henry wasn't enclosing, catching a drop of rain and watching as it made its way across her palm, slid down her lower arm, and was eventually soaked up by the fabric of her sleeve.

"But you said earlier that, you told Emma to—cover up something? I think."

"Did I now?"

"I wouldn't know," Henry huffed in frustration. "Since Mom apparently concealed whatever it was."

"Do you remember Robin?"

"Don't go there again," he demanded helplessly, painfully aware that his mom was the Queen of eluding, and he didn't stand a chance.

Smiling, she was smiling, but that was no smile on her face. "Fine with me. We could just sit here talking about the life you made me miss for the last five years, and I'd be delighted. Instead of whatever cricket imitation you're trying out here. I knew having you befriend that wannabe therapist wasn't such a good idea after all."

"Yeah, yeah. I know you're awesome. You made me stray from our topic of conversation, again. So—Robin? You mean my—" Henry's face screwed up for a second, remembering his one and only disastrously failed attempt at a written family tree, "my cousin?"

"Indeed. She's grown so fast. Let's see if she'll even remember you after you abandoned us."

"First, I didn't abandon you, I did that mysterious thing all kids do, remember? Try to be independent before screwing up and calling for mom to fix my mess. At least I hope that's what normal people do, not that I'd ever met someone even remotely so. Second, no. You're talking about—"

"No one. Oh, did Hook tell you about Mal's new dragon spawn? She pretends she doesn't know the father. But wouldn't there need to be another dragon in town, then? Quite unsettling. As if two aren't enough already. Plus the newest addition, of course. Adorable baby twins, but not easy to babysit."

"Really? More dragons? Cool," Henry's eyes brightened before he shook his head with a heavy sigh. "How are you so good at this?"

Regina brushed another loose hair strand behind her ear, using her left hand and, when she thought he wasn't looking, teeth to tear off a strip of her dress and put up most of her loose hair."Born this way," she announced with feigned brightness, "does not involve any practice, sweetheart, so don't even try."

"Yeah, I'm beginning to believe that." Henry looked at her as she sagged against the tree, eyes closed, one knee hugged tight to her chest, the other leg still spread out where it was exposed to the pounding rain. Guilt stabbed him as he was reminded of her twisted ankle. She may have gone through so much worse but—even as he knew it was naive, it felt like nothing was supposed to hurt in a happy beginning. "You meant your soulmate, didn't you."

Regina dropped her head on her drawn knees, nodding slightly. "Today is his birthday, you see." She looked up at him, a drip of water glinting on her eyelash until it was gone instantly. For a moment, the wind lifted her hair, too short to be bound by the piece of fabric, and it waved around her head like a flock of crows.

"You miss him."

She smiled again, her lips dry and chapped, blood smeared at the edge of her teeth, and it looked beyond ferocious—her smile didn't only seem emotionally painful now. "There are some things you're still too young to understand, my little prince."

"I'm an adult now," and Henry had never felt less like one, "you can't say that anymore."

"You'll always be too young for certain knowledge," she whispered, and she was near perfection at hiding hurt, but the love she had for him was out in the open, almost tangible in the air. "And I'm glad, you hear me? I'm glad. There's understanding that comes from experience, and this one, I'll make sure you'll never have."

It was such a genuine moment right there, and they both smiled because they had missed this, he had missed it, and now that he had it again he never wanted to let it go. He'd keep it in his heart forever. This love. This unconditional love that never blurred, never weakened, never diminished.

Regina's voice steadied where it had broken with emotion before. She cleared her throat but squeezed his hand lightly one last time before tearing her eyes away from him. "Except for breaking up with Violet-let's-still-be-friends. Couldn't protect you from that, sweetie, but you handled it… charmingly either way."

"Bad pun. And not again," Henry groaned. "There's nothing wrong with remaining platonically close with your ex-girlfriend."

"I wouldn't know, my relationships didn't exactly end… alive," she responded before immediately changing tracks. "But it is quite unusual to befriend your ex-girlfriend's current girlfriend as well. Or, fiancée. I think Grace proposed."

"And I think she goes by Paige still—if only to annoy Jefferson—and also, congratulations. I still can't see why it's weird to mutually agree to end a relationship and go the cinema together two weeks after. There was a new Star Wars, and Paige's a nerd like me."

"Oh, I don't think it's odd. Just very lovely. Charming, so to say."

"Let me guess, with a capital 'C.'"

"Snow was enthusiastic about the 'mature' way you handled the break-up. Though I don't recall how a woman who married with twenty-eight and never looked at another man again would know anything about break-ups. Or maturity, for that matter."

"Fair point, fair point, okay? If I ever break up with Ella, I'll throw a vase and burn the house down. But don't you dare lecture me then."

"Break up?" Regina knitted a brow.

" _If_ Ella and I ever get together, and then break up, of course. We're just friends."

"The same way Snow and David are 'just friends,' right?"

"The same way you and Emma were 'just friends,' back when you first started to argue like a married couple." Henry winced instantly, dropping the all too familiar mocking; Regina's words in his mind. _Today is his birthday._

"She actually is married," his mom retorted flatly, but her eyes had regained their dullness. "To the very same man whose double is somewhere back in the safety of the tent. As you should be."

"Where I should be is right here with my mom." Henry moistened his lips, closing his eyes, trying to swallow the thickness in throat away, his stinging eyes, and he waited to go on until he was absolutely sure his voice would remain steady. "But you won't let me. I know it's hard. But if you'd just… talk to me—"

Regina opened her mouth, "Well, what would you call what we're—"

"No, you're not doing this again. I love talking to you, and I know it's been too long and that it's my fault. But you—I never knew it was his birthday, and apparently, you've been miserable on exactly this day for a very long time. I never knew you were, and I should have known, but I didn't because Storybrooke was so shiny and bright and everything nice. And maybe it wasn't always, but our most important motto was 'Don't you worry, it'll pass.' Sometimes it doesn't." She was looking away from him again, and only their cold hands offered any connection at all. "You still told me you were happy, and I think you were telling the truth. But if happy means for you that it's okay most of the time, and when it isn't, you just deal with it on your own… I don't want that. None of us ever did. Tell me what hurts so much about today, please?"

Regina clenched her left hand, her face hidden in the shadow, blood spluttering on the ground.

Something snapped.

Something she'd been afraid of happening this entire time, something she knew she had to contain in front of her son, something angry, something old, something terribly hurt, snapped.

It was the truth. It broke, and it escaped, and Regina caught it before it tainted the air, but the truth is never quite as solid as you believe it to be, and fragments slipped through her fingers, refused to be locked back in.

"I _don't_ know." She shook her head violently. "That is the problem. If only there were a specific thing that hurt. I could… visit Archie—if he still knows how to do his job in the middle of all those fixable, happy people—and talk to him, and then I could claim I'd gotten help and can finally move on. But that's not me. A happy beginning is a new beginning, and I've got too much baggage to fully embrace it. It'd be enough for me. Just having people who care about me, it'd be enough. But nothing is ever supposed to be some kind of wrong when you're happy. And if it is, well, you better not live in Storybrooke."

She sighed. "No, I don't mean it like that. It's just that I'm beginning to think that not even the past should be buried as collectively as the people of that town did—or pretended to do. You don't _grieve_ anymore in Storybrooke unless something were to happen right now. Or if you do grieve about people long gone, you do it behind the closed doors of your home. And if there's no one to hold you there, well… you don't." She laughed, an oddly crisp, dark sound. "What's kept me sane when you were gone is Zelena, oddly enough. But she's more than happy to bury the past. She doesn't need it anymore. Only I can't seem to get rid of it. But it's okay."

She retreated from Henry, her hand slipping out of his, curling inwards and out of reach for him. "I promise, tomorrow I'll be me again. The version of me you know. The version of me who's worth anything. I'll handle today." A sound escaped Henry's lips, throaty and absolutely disbelieving. Regina smiled. "Don't you worry, it'll pass."

"Mom—"

"Henry!" They both jerked, and Henry immediately felt guilty for the slight second of calm as he recognized Ella's voice. She was solely amazing and, an impossible relief, already fond of his mom, but this was nothing she could help him with. "Henry, where are you? I think I could really use some help here!"

"Well, that's convenient," Regina noticed before he'd even really processed what choice he'd have to make now. Her voice softened. "Go to her. She's your story right now, and the reason I've come here is to help you. Not burden you."

"I won't leave you here."

"I told you, I'll pick up my pieces and the next time you see me—tomorrow—I'll be fine again."

"Maybe that's what worries me."

"Oh, Henry. It's okay. Go. You know me, no storm's getting rid of me that easily. Ella, though? She needs you. I'm slow, and I'm tired. Go!"

Indeed he knew her, and he knew that he was not going to help her by blindly stabbing into her emotional mess as he'd been doing since he'd found her here. He could get Ella; together they'd managed to bring his mom to safety once before. They would again—even if Regina claimed she didn't need nor want it.

"I'll be right back."

"And I'll be here the entire time. For you." He frowned, not quite certain how reassured he was supposed to be of that statement. He knew she was there for him; he hadn't doubted it a single second for an eternity now. Which also meant that he'd known her for an eternity. She had a lot of pride, and stubbornness that he'd unquestionably inherited (character traits were about so much more than genes). So if he stopped clinging to her for a second, maybe she'd allow herself a moment of… truth? A moment where she didn't have to hold back. What if that was what she needed now and he'd been wrong this entire time?

He didn't know, anymore.

But he knew he would—most likely—be able to help Ella.

(Which… sounded good for a change.)

"You won't do anything, risky, will you?"

Regina rolled her eyes, and as much as it was an act, it worked. "Not more than you, my little prince."

"Runs in the family, huh. Be—"

" _You_ be safe, Henry. Now—"

"Yeah, I'll go." He nodded, convincing himself of the impossible—that everything was okay. He stood, patting off his trousers, before he bent down again, pulling his mom into a bone-crushing hug. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too." She smiled, and he thought that the rain must have reached them because her face was wet.

Henry turned around and ventured into the storm.

Why did it feel, then, like he was leaving the real thunder behind?

* * *

Ella's voice guided him through the wind. She was sheltering underneath another tree, not far from the camp.

"Thank God, you're here," she exclaimed when he was in sight. She was thoroughly soaked, lines of exhaustion on her face. They shared a short smile that was soon accompanied by a snort.

So familiar.

Too familiar?

Ella stepped aside, relief washing over her features as if only now, she truly realized that she wasn't alone anymore. Alone with—

A woman stepped out of the shadow. Brushing through her red, frizzy hair, she took another step closer to Henry.

"Hello there, Regina's munchkin." She smiled, all white teeth and blue eyes flashing. "Your Auntie's here."

* * *

Maybe this story is a little odd?

Hope you enjoyed anyway, more than happy if you tell me :)


	4. Chapter 4

"Zelena!" A stuttering, somewhat breathless laughter escaped Henry's mouth, and his face broke into a smile. "I should have expected you, shouldn't I? When there's trouble, you're rarely out of reach."

"I'm surprised it's not her who _is_ the trouble," Ella remarked. She pushed herself off the tree she'd been leaning on and took a few steps closer to Henry—or, more likely, further away from his aunt—continuing, "I've been with her for about fifteen minutes, and I'm already more exhausted than I can ever remember being. Please tell me you're taking care of her from now on." Ella roughly shoved a hand through her hair and showed a slight smirk, taking the sting out of her words.

Zelena inclined her head. "For the girl you want to marry she's quite the softy," she teased, bending down to scratch dirt off the seam of her pistachio green cloak. She stared at her boots incredulously only to realize that their heels had sunken inches deep into the mud. Sighing, she casually leaned on Ella's shoulder to stabilize herself while freeing her unfortunate, modern-world shoes from the tasty downsides of a medieval one. "I think we'll need to train her properly before we can introduce her to the family members who have lost far more of their sanity than I have."

"Nah, I guess you're as bad as it's going to get," Henry grinned, but it soon shifted into a blankly horrified expression as Ella's laughter glided through the air, open and joyful. "The girl you're gonna marry?"

His cheeks flamed. "Want to," he murmured, and his eyes widened in shock, "I mean, no, not so quickly, we've barely even… I… oh, Goodness." He groaned, stepping up to a now upright Zelena and pulling her into a tight hug. "Zelena, Ella. Ella, Greenie."

"Ooh, I like that name," Ella laughed, and Henry's heart floated up the stars, dancing around in sparkling places he'd never seen before. "Although she did introduce herself a little… differently."

"I _am_ the most amazing witchy aunt there is. Just ask anyone around, well, anywhere." Zelena defended herself, grinning. She then suddenly grew serious, her eyes still twinkling. "Though you're right. That girl's insane enough for us. Better than your boring blonde mother certainly." She nodded approvingly. "You have my blessings."

"The last thing I'd do is ask _you_ for blessings. Not that I'd—I wouldn't think of marriage yet," Henry stammered, and he'd never been more enthusiastic about a threatening, eerie darkness that had overtaken them in the middle of the day, hiding the humiliated flush of his cheeks. "We haven't even… technically we haven't even told each other about our feelings yet. If, there were any."

"How come you're my nephew and that embarrassingly awkward around girls?" Zelena mocked, shaking her head once again, though her wet hair still wouldn't settle for anything but a cloud of bird's nest.

"Let's just skip that confessing part," Ella suggested, and both of them knew she was only half joking (wasn't that basically an admission? Henry wasn't sure, but he was sure as hell not going to ask). For a second, it was silent as both of them glanced at each other and then at the ground. Raindrops drummed a dark song on the surrounding landscape.

"As much as I love teasing the hell out of you lovey-dovey little monkeys—" Zelena's voice had changed all of a sudden, grown serious, her eyes fixated on Henry in a kind of questioningly intense way. Ella and his eyes locked, and in a silent agreement, they both reached out to grasp each other's hands. "How is Regina?"

Ella squeezed Henry's fingers, frowning upon his tormented expression. "She… she's fine."

"That bad, huh?"

He smiled a little, biting his lip. "Yeah. Like… _evening before I left_ bad."

Zelena rolled her eyes, but even that familiar motion looked uncharacteristically sad. "You weren't supposed to know about that."

"And you weren't supposed to come here," he retorted. "I'm glad, though. I—I think she needs you right now." Thunder began to roar above them, drowning out the last two words. "Said you kept her—sane when I wasn't there. Thank you."

"She's my family, too."

"She is." Henry nodded, realizing just how much they had all grown fond of each other, just how much Zelena was a part of them. It was a curious thing, affection. Zelena and his mom had overcome each and every obstacle they had thrown at each other in previous times… They had come to a place of true sisterly love, and as cynical and reserved both of them could still at times be, watching Zelena's eyes soften so visibly at the mention of Regina's name was truly beautiful.

And soothing.

Why he'd thought leaving his mom alone in that storm at the edge of a cliff was a good idea, he didn't remember, but he did know that she was so much less than alone. Thunder shook the sky once again, and gentle panic began to rise in him. "You're here to be with Regina, right? There's no… other, bad news kind of reason?"

"I missed you. Both of you, indeed." Zelena snorted, but even that couldn't take the sincerity out of her words. "The Charmings just aren't as fun without a partner in crime to annoy them with. I—I also figured Regina might need someone today."

"You knew."

"About ' _Emma the Great and Terrible Honor Day_?' Of course I did." Zelena sighed. "But now, I need you to explain to me exactly where Regina is, what happened, and how much of a risk it is if you take too long telling me."

* * *

Regina was standing—barely standing, but she did her best to ignore her shivering body, telling her with bright red warning signs that the second she'd allow herself to, she'd break down—at the edge of the cliff once again. Her eyes were unseeing, focused on something inside that only she could perceive. The minute of Henry's departure, the darkness had seeped back, wind and rain encircling her, encouraging her to keep standing.

She understood now.

The amateur wizards or witches Tremaine had apparently hired didn't have control over the storm anymore. The torches that had been lighted outside of her manor had gone out now, too, and Regina was sure that Tremaine and her people were cowering in her house, scared of the monster they'd unleashed. They had intended to inflict chaos in order to disperse the resistance, and the forces of nature had delightedly done their part. There was no stopping a raw, wild, magical storm like this.

There was absorbing it, though.

Similar to soaking in the Darkness, just… more peacefully. Calmer, almost soothing, it would be.

Throwing oneself off the cliff, snuffing out the storm in free fall.

Regina was considering it like it was the decision of what to cook for dinner. Entirely rational, just looking at what might happen and who it would affect if she made this choice or that choice.

That was not the way, though.

Rationally? It seemed to make an awful lot of sense to stop that storm. She had long lost count, but she had lived about seven decades now; half an eternity.

Really, though? She knew it didn't make any sense at all. She didn't want to sacrifice herself now, and the storm wasn't even a very violent threat. It might die down sooner or later, anyway.

It was just that Regina was still standing at the edge of the cliff, and she didn't quite know why.

"How the hell could you do that to us?"

Regina didn't turn around to face the angry voice or the person that it belonged to, but she very carefully lifted her hand to wipe the tears off her face, cautious not to open the wounds again.

The person approached her slowly until Regina could hear an abrupt halt to their movement. "Step away from the precipice, Regina. Right now." She still didn't turn around, not bothering to care about a stranger's demands. "Regina, I need you to step back!" The darkness around her hadn't lessened yet, so whoever that person was, they couldn't be all that close. "Regina! Please. Regina?"

She felt a hand on her shoulder, flinching agitatedly, spinning around. The other person retreated instantly, then took a step forward again, gripping Regina's wrists and pulling her away from the cliff. Regina was completely startled, crying out as her ankle gave in and only the stranger's tight grip prevented her from stumbling to the ground.

"Regina—" Or maybe no stranger at all.

Zelena frowned.

"Regina, are you hurt?" Her sister's face drained of all color. "I can feel it. Sit the hell down, sis. I don't know how you're still standing. You're completely hollowed—" Zelena blinked. "Hey, by the way." She pulled them both down to the ground, only now letting go of Regina's wrists.

Regina instantly drew them to her chest, her teeth gritted, dark eyes troubled.

"Always good to see you, too."

* * *

"I really hate you right now, and we can't have that."

Zelena was positioning herself on the stony, wet ground, eyes narrowed, trying to bring her sister to look at her. But Regina had gone back to staring into the distance, not uttering another word, her expression stoic, almost indifferent. "Why not, though?"

Somehow, that stung. Zelena's eyes lost their focus for a moment, pondering whether her being here was such a good idea, after all. Usually, Henry was the fallback plan… if anyone got through to Regina, it was her son, but his expression had been one of utter exhaustion, frustration, sadness, even horror as he'd recited some of Regina's words, only now truly recognizing the wrongness of them.

' _Tomorrow I'll be me again. The version of me who's worth anything.'_

The mere thought of that kind of self-loathing ignited Zelena's anger again, burning and destructive. If nothing, those last years had brought an infinite feeling of protectiveness over her sister… and if it was herself she had to be shielded from.

This wasn't something new, even if they liked to pretend it was. Regina's sense of value for her own life was… disturbing at best, and horrifying at worst.

"Well, because I'm here now, and it would be a shame if I'd come all this way just to hate you again." Zelena reached out to touch her, make her finally see her, but she thought of that awful flinch Regina had displayed earlier, and how often she'd witnessed that upsetting kind of hyper-sensitivity already and how… they never really did talk about those things when it wasn't Saturday evening, and they were both drunk. And alcohol indulged Regina was… occasionally fun, occasionally unnervingly melancholic, sometimes nostalgic in a weird way—remembering and bitterly laughing about things in the past that weren't at all funny to hear about. They did talk, in those nights, but both of them were all too happy to pretend nothing of it had happened in the morning.

Regina tilted her head, hair falling over her face. "Why are you here, Zelena? Did Henry call you to look after me? Because I already told him I'd be all right."

"You would be," Zelena repeated flatly, doing all she could not to be affected by her sister's casual indifference. "But you weren't. You aren't. I'm here to fix that." She cringed, and as soon as she heard her own words, she knew they were all wrong.

Words were wrong. Touches were wrong. Magic, Zelena didn't possess anymore.

"There's nothing to _fix,_ Zelena, don't you get it? It's not about some twisted ankle or—"

"I know it's his birthday," Zelena interrupted sharply, because softness was wrong too, and she felt what Henry hadn't been able to put into words; there was a lot of rawness and hurt there, but no channel, no source, either, and no target to aim them at.

"—and it's not about 'his' birthday; you all act like there's a He Who Must Not Be Named in the air, and if I'd just speak about him, about _Robin_ , about some held-back emotion that I never expressed, you'd have the solution to your problem. But there's nothing; there just isn't. It's true, we never talk about him, but it's not—it's not why I'm feeling what I'm feeling right now; that's not—explainable. I don't know—"

"Oh," Zelena muttered, as soft as she'd ever been capable of. "Well. This doesn't work." She finally reached out to Regina's shaking frame, gently touching her shoulder to indicate that she was there, to give a last opportunity to retreat, before she wrapped her arms around her sister and spent all the emotions she felt, all the love, into one tight hug.

They stayed like that a long, long time.

Stiffly at first, the angles not yet quite right, adjusting and shifting in each other's arms, until finally, they had found the right version, for a moment just breathing into their shoulders.

The rain splashed on their head, and they held on tighter, in silence and the thumping of their hearts.

After moments had passed, Regina released one, shuddering sob.

She was openly crying now, and it was cracking Zelena's heart, shattering it into pieces. She could have gone her whole life without ever seeing someone break like that, and yet, it was absolutely and desperately necessary.

"I'm here because I love you," she whispered, and Regina nodded against her shoulders, at this moment not able to reply anything, but her heart was still beating, and she was still breathing, and that was enough for both of them.

* * *

Twenty minutes may have passed, and Regina was almost getting sleepy in her sister's arms, exhaustion swashing through her body and mind.

Zelena's eyes cast worriedly over her, her forehead creased, contemplating. "What do you say about getting out of here? This ghastly storm seems to be feeding off you somehow."

"It is," Regina mumbled, half tempted to go to sleep right here, and maybe never wake up, which—rationally, she knew what Henry and Zelena found so disconcerting about her having that kind of thoughts, but it didn't feel that way to her. She did have things to live for, but for her, there hadn't ever been a distinction between someone to live and someone to die for. She loved them fiercely, truly and deeply, and she'd spent so much time chasing after her happy ending… that the word had gained a whole other meaning for her, one that still fit entirely. She was happy, as happy as she'd ever known, and if she were to die for that kind of peace… well, it would be worth it.

She thought, maybe that was why the Charmings had renamed the phrase.

(Happy beginning, they'd said; but it sounded more hopeful than truthful.)

Perhaps the old one just fit her better.

"The storm," she frowned, wiping those thoughts out of her mind for the moment, "the storm, how does it react to you? You're a magic creature, but not a magic user, anymore."

"Oh," Zelena grinned. "That's a fun one. As you see, it apparently allows me to rise on my dear heels, but," She leaped on her feet, twirling around, bowing with (not really) feigned cheekiness. Then she lifted her hands up in the air, waving them somewhere in front of her face, the darkness more consistent wherever her fingers went. "It's still darker where I am. The witch is still as delightfully wicked as ever, I suppose."

Regina rolled her eyes. "Just not as stormy and almighty, are you?"

"More like snarky and most powerful."

"Of course."

"Blah."

"You blah."

"That's the Regina I know."

"Right." Regina sighed. "So, let's get on with it."

Zelena's expression turned serious, brushing her hair back and crouching down beside her sister. She carefully supported her standing up, and they both swayed for a second, testing the fragile construct.

"I think I'd rather walk alone," Regina remarked, her fingers gripping her sister's shoulder tightly. "I hate this."

Zelena inclined her head. "At least you don't hate me anymore. I'd say it's an improvement."

"I thought you were the one hating me? Or did I miss the whole apologizing part?"

"You mean like I missed the whole 'glad you're here, sis' act?"

"I am." Regina made a small step forward, and Zelena tried to mirror her movements, but they ended up almost toppling to the ground instead. "I am glad you're here, Zelena. Henry shouldn't have to bear me alone today."

"I know you are," Zelena smiled briefly, "and we do need to talk about his."

Regina groaned, still struggling to regain her balance. "He said that too. Just about a hundred times."

"He also said that you were quite reluctant."

Regina lifted her head abruptly, then immediately forcing herself into sync with her sister again. "I was not. Or, if I was, the good reasons were mine. He's my son."

"He is," Zelena agreed, "and right now that means he cares a great deal about you, more than anyone could comprehend. And I do too." Her voice hardened with something that felt strangely teary, a side of Zelena that she entrusted only to her sister. "So that means you're not allowed to just go on a suicide mission— Not when you have _me._ Am I not good enough for you?"

They made a few steps together, stiffly and tensely again. Regina shook her head, once, twice, her eyes closed, but when she opened them again, the water was still not gone. She was so sick of it. Sick of opening up her heart but not really knowing how to—no one had ever taught her and she'd had to learn it painfully, spilling out and creating a mess all around her. She needed to remind herself that Zelena was similar to her, in that regard. She had to remember that she had learned all that, been taught by the people she loved. Henry. Emma. Snow. Robin. Her sister.

"Of course you're good enough. Look at me, who's the pathetic simpering mess here? Always me."

"And if you were a singing blonde hippie, I'd still love you," Zelena retorted. "You've let me come close, and now there's no escaping from me, ever. I'm gonna stick by you, no matter what. I love you more than the whole world."

"I love you too, Zelena," Regina whispered. One step. Another step. Her head wound throbbed insistently, eating away at her clear mind. Another step.

"I know you do. You brought that to me again. Real love, not the obsession of a crazed lunatic megalomaniacal deity. And I love Robin, of course, unconditionally," a shadow flew over Zelena's face for a split second, "but you… you're special, Regina. And you can't ever allow yourself to yield, do you hear me?"

"A Queen does not yield," Regina murmured, voices in her head.

"She doesn't, but I don't mean our mother's power-hungry gruesome lectures," Zelena stood still at once, then picking up pace again, satisfied that they were so in sync at last that little disturbances didn't throw them off guard anymore. "I mean us. I mean not giving in to our demons, whatever they might tell us."

"Sometimes," Regina breathed, her voice barely audible, "sometimes it feels like my demons _are_ me, and I am them."

Zelena nodded, sharp pain in her eyes. "I know, sis," she whispered. "I know."

It wasn't enough.

But it wasn't wrong, either, and maybe what they needed wasn't fixing, but a few _right_ pieces as reminders that they weren't alone.

Not now, and not ever again.

* * *

"So, Robin is still sulking, I take it," Regina concluded, her eyes slightly glassed over in sheer physical, magical, and mental exhaustion. She dropped her head on Zelena's shoulder, grasping for that tiny bit of rest while stumbling on, desperately pretending not to notice that her sister was half carrying her drained body by this point.

Zelena's laugh was bitter, more like a desperate gasp for air. "Sulking is a good word, I suppose," she noticed, her hand tightening in an almost painful way on Regina's arm. "As much as Henry ever sulked when he was ten—no, wait, I'm sorry." She winced at the sharpness of her tone, closing her eyes only to find that it made little a difference in terms of sight.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up the subject," Regina sighed, smiling in a way that she knew must look completely bonkers, but she was just so tired.

"I guess that's Mills. You screwed up that adoption talk then, and I fucked the 'your mommy impersonated her sister's soulmate's dead ex-wife' thingy."

"Language," Regina mumbled in response, before she lifted her head for a short second, frowning. "Wait, you're not Henry, are you?"

"I can neither negate nor affirm," Zelena stated with only the slightest trace of sarcasm in her voice. "Though, if I were him, I'd still be a grown guy in my twenties. Who's… allowed to curse."

"Yes. That."

"I think I finally get why you abhor today so violently," Zelena mused with a shake of her head that made her dripping hair swish all over Regina's face. "It's getting weirder and weirder. Wait, I can't see a thing. Let's just pause at that—well, those—trees for a second, all right? Oh, I do loathe this realm. Also, I'm quite obviously talking to myself now." She rolled her eyes to show her irritation to the thin air and her half-drowsing sister.

She didn't allow a single shard of concern or fear prick her skin because she had come here to be the strong and comforting one, and if she started to think about how much more of that Regina was, she wouldn't be able to support her weight anymore.

But Zelena was concerned.

Desperately so.

Because if Regina's fight began to fail her, well, then the universe might as well implode.

"What'd you say?" Regina whispered, a slight tremble in her voice that Zelena worried could be from the knifing cold, and was terrified that it might not be.

"Already there," Zelena declared through her teeth, her fingertips meeting a solid surface. Her face contorted in something like disgust, then; the tree's bark was covered in a deep blackish, mushy paste, streaked with small fibers of wood and dirt. Zelena lay her hand on the tree, inhaling deeply before feeling through the foul bark, meeting—a slumped, almost wholly rotten trunk.

Zelena made a yelping sound, jumping a few steps backward. She whirled around just as her sister's foot got caught in a root, and Regina slipped out of her arm, for a split second almost regaining her balance before her injured and badly mistreated ankle gave in, and she crumbled to the ground on her knees.

No, no, no, no—

The trees around them were all rotten to the core (like us, Zelena almost thought, more on Regina's behalf than on her own really, because that felt in a darkly twisted way exactly like some horrible nightmare out of her sister's mind), wasting away, their smell so thickly like wood that it was suffocating.

Tiny bolts of lightning, redundant remains of the magical storm, buzzed through the air, and in the moment that Zelena was reaching down to her worn out sister, they struck. The trees sunk in themselves, branches came tumbling down, and as it was so dark they couldn't be seen, it felt like the sky was falling. Zelena had felt it coming the second her hands had glided through the tree's bark, but she was still just a moment too late to cover herself.

Regina's eyes widened.

She threw her hands in the air, and even though every breath was making painfully clear just how badly her life force was wrung out, she dug deeper, with fangs and claws and blood-speckled teeth, and mustered enough magic to force a shield just above her sister's head.

Zelena's back straightened with surprise, a quick glance assuring her that she'd been spared from the worst damage.

Her eyes flitted back to her sister.

She crawled forward, taking Regina's nearly limp form in her arms and cradling her with almost furious care.

"M' fine," Regina declared, though her voice hadn't much sound to it, anymore.

"You're alive," Zelena allowed.

"Don't lecture me, m-my prince already did."

"I take it all back, I hate you again," Zelena replied, "no, wait, no, I think the time for jokes is over. I really goddamn love you. And I'm bloody grateful you just saved my life. But." She took a shuddering breath, only now realizing how shaken she was. And how utterly moronic.

She'd lead them to a group of trees in the full knowledge that Regina needed medical attention—a medieval resemblance of it, at least—badly, and of course, the usually safe enough vegetation would turn out to be morbid rotten abominations that crashed right over their heads.

And of course, Regina would fling herself into some kind of jeopardy as soon as there was one available.

She supposed she would be dead by now if not for her, though, and that was the last thing she planned to do for the next couple of decades.

But they were still fucked right in the middle of a gruesomely smelling mess of rotten wood, and her sister was damn near unconscious, and wasn't this the kind of situation Regina and the Savior usually got in?

Oh, but Zelena hadn't ever found Emma as endearing as her sister claimed her to be, and she'd get them both out of here, and make sure it was far from the last thing she'd do.

Zelena took a deep, steadying breath.

Step one on her to-do list was something she'd never had to learn but knew instinctively: When magic users had over-exhausted themselves, they needed either one of two things. One, if their magic was simply used up, a safe place to rest and charge up again. Two, if their life force was nearly emptied, too, the exact opposite was required; basic life energy only had a chance to refill in absolute consciousness.

In short, she had to keep Regina awake.

Painfully so.

How hard would that possibly—

She winced as Regina in her arms began to fidget almost frantically, her elbow punching her in the leg trying to find something to lean on.

Not hard at all.

Well, of course not.

Though she suspected Regina's reasons for pushing herself up from her semi-comfortable lying position weren't precisely her own well-being.

"What are you doing?" Zelena frowned down at her sister.

"Quite obviously more than you," Regina snapped, finally grasping Zelena's shoulder and wriggling herself out of her arms, but she seemed too weary even to bring herself to form a snarl.

"We're not quite in a position to be doing anything," Zelena declared so matter-of-factly it felt almost insincere. So that was how it felt to be plain reasonable.

Well, it was drearily boring.

Necessary, too.

"Because of some foul greenery."

"I don't like it any more than you do." Zelena grimaced. "Regina, you're—"

"Not in any state to be sitting up straight on my own?" A sort of grim satisfaction shadowed her sister's face, along with some kind of desperate disgust at herself. "Guess what, sis? I am. And I'll continue to do so if you don't mind."

"Sure, if you don't mind dying."

The silence following Zelena's statement stretched out far too long. Zelena blinked through the darkness, finally reaching out with her fingers and clumsily grabbing for Regina's hands. "Perks of being trapped," she declared, "we can have that nice little chat now. Your son's just like you, and he's going to worry, and he's going to find us. So—"

Regina tensed under her sister's touch, but other than that, showed no reaction to her words. "It's just getting worse, is it?" she choked on her own words, continuing quietly, as if she wasn't sure if she even wanted to be heard, "Today. I'll be alone again, and someone will track me down, and then we'll pretend that we actually know what we're doing, and then everything starts over once more. And we'll claim that this day will ever end, but—how do you know when the sun disappears if it's been dark all along?"

"You don't," Zelena responded firmly. Not exactly a promising start to a pep talk; but then again, she wasn't Snow White, and she would just need to find what worked for Zelena. "But you keep fighting, anyway. You are a fighter, Regina, it's why you're here today, and it's why you'll be here tomorrow, no matter when that will be. And you can pretend all you like that you've given up but..." she frowned, finding the words as she went, "well, I think you have to finish that sentence."

"But I haven't," Regina replied promptly. Then sighed, with so much weariness in her voice that it drained Zelena to the bones. "But—sometimes I want to? Sometimes, I just want to close my eyes."

"You're allowed to do that," Zelena agreed seriously. "The only condition being that you'll open them again."

"I will. I am a fighter, after all, whatever the hell that means."

"I think it's something… right. Good, or maybe… something meaningful." Why Snow's hope speeches always had that maddening undertone to them was because they were so one-sided. They were less so if they truly came from the former bandit's heart, but there was still always that unsatisfactory feeling within Zelena whenever Snow White's specialty struck again. This… this was more of a conversation. One that involved both of them.

"Meaningful." Zelena's hand was still on her sister's arm, forming the connection that eye contact couldn't provide at the moment. The word rolled in Regina's mouth, and her posture relaxed at it.

Zelena's head tilted. "There really is a point to this day. To how much it… affects you."

Regina snorted. "Mills aren't so great at subtle, are they?"

"No, we aren't," Zelena admitted. "We're also terrible at not prying. Maybe that's the one thing that would convince me that Emma actually is a part of this family. Anyway, you're not getting out of this. No offense, but you're terribly sentimental, Regina—"

"Maybe, and you're the blunt opposite."

"Perhaps," Zelena conceded with an eye-roll. "But I don't think that your emotions can be bound to one single—if fateful—day so easily. It's just pretense, isn't it? You're not actually feeling _more_ today. You're just letting yourself succumb to those feelings."

"That doesn't make any sense," Regina refuted. "Why would I do that, now that I'm here with my son?" That faint smile in her voice had always been audible whenever she mentioned Henry, and that it was now, too, felt like something close to hope. However pathetic a word that might be.

"Because it's what you've been doing the last—how long has it been? Eight years? Ten? The days do blur together in Storybrooke," Zelena mused.

"If that's not what that town is infamous for—except for its weird liking of keeping people trapped—then nothing is."

"It's definitely the more comfortable trait of the two, though."

"Maybe. But I think I've had time feeling frozen far too often in my life to find it that enjoyable, anymore," Regina mumbled. "Quiet peace may be a blessing, but too much time to think never is. It's like a vivid reminder of all the things we've lost, and it's disturbing because it's also a sign how much we still have and..." Regina shook her head, and again, placing her left hand over her eyes, her right hand finding Zelena's fingers and holding on tight. "I don't understand it myself. I'm happy, but I also don't quite know what that means without… moving forward. Storybrooke is—"

"A standstill," Zelena proceeded, realization dawning, not only of the meaning of her sister's words but also of that nagging feeling inside of her heart that longed to combine happiness and still opening up to new adventures.

"Is that bad?" Regina breathed. "Ungrateful? Loving to live in Storybrooke, and yet reaching out to new… stories? Henry said to me that mine isn't over. What if he's right? What if new challenges are… fine?"

A grin spread across Zelena's face, wide and honest if a little hesitant. "I think then we call that living. We don't have to be content the same way as the Charmings, right?" She used Regina's hand as a guide, crouching beside her sister. "Did you believe your little one—did you believe Henry? When he said those things to you?"

"I'm not sure. I wanted to."

"We could always help you." There was a sparkle in Zelena's veins, something fierce and beautiful that they had ignited together, and she knew that Regina had that spark in her heart, too, resilient and powerful, and she was just one step away from recognizing it again. "Adventures, glory, victories, relaxing under a blue sky, all that stuff. Together. You, and me, and your little munchkin, that wife of his—"

" _Excuse_ me?" Regina sounded genuinely indignant. But also… better. Stronger.

Zelena thought that she wouldn't have associated the state Regina was currently in as strong with any other person, but knowing all she did about her sister… as long as there was any way she might come out of physical suffering alive, she would.

"You know, she's actually cute. A fighter, too."

"A true Mills, isn't she? Which reminds me—you should invite Robin. Trust me if I say that there's nothing you can't come back from. You've had a rough start, and now she's found out about it. But honesty—it can work as a better healer than time."

They moved even closer to each other at once, Regina resting her head on her sister's shoulder. For a moment, they listened; to the rustling of leaves in the distance, where healthy trees swayed in the wind; the rattling of branches, the distant thundering that broke through the blanket of clouds. They listened to the slight, electrical crackles of the tension-filled air; to their breathing, and the steady sound of hurrying footsteps.

"'Healer.' That's a good word. You should try seeing one." It was Henry's breathless voice lightening up the dark, which was submitting only reluctantly, with jolted little flashes of lightning burning at the edges of the hazy blackness, illuminating it piece by piece. For a second, Regina thought that Henry's face was soaked in that furious, protective anger again, but in a flash, it was gone, and all that remained was a relieved sob and a sagging of a son into his mother's arms.

And then there was Ella behind her, and she kept Regina upright under the weight of Henry's crushing embrace, and Zelena was still clasping her hand, a new, firm resolution in her eyes. She'd fix that relationship with her daughter—they had time, and Robin was a teenager who'd expressed that she just wanted to _get away_ from Storybrooke for some time on various occasions.

It all felt absurdly like a group hug—a messy one involving only a small part of that insane family of theirs, but all the same—with Regina in the center, and at first, she thought she should be fighting it. Be pulling away again; pushing them all back so she could snuff out this storm on her own. So she could hurt on her own, and build herself up again, and try to figure out why it was that she sometimes suffered without actively getting stabbed.

But her exhaustion was deeper than her skin, deeper than her bones (and yet it wasn't even near her heart.)

Regina let herself fold, sag into the wet, disgusting dirt and the equally dirty and so wonderfully loving arms of her son, and her sister, and Ella—who was still figuring out her story and how Henry best fit into it and how to open up her heart without bleeding.

Regina took a breath.

And another.

And though a thousand dubious odors waved through the air around them, she didn't feel like she was suffocating, anymore.

Maybe next time her throat was constricting, she'd release her breath by talking instead of holding it until she passed out.

"We brought flashlights, and a magical map," Henry told her, his voice muffled, being buried in her shoulder. "We're going home now."

Zelena chuckled somewhat caustically, just barely refraining from rolling her eyes because on the one hand that was the vaguest statement Henry possibly could have uttered. But on the other hand—it really wasn't.

She wondered briefly if Regina had the same self-ironic thoughts she had whenever thinking anything that resembled Snow White's 'home is where your heart is' ramblings.

She probably didn't. Because Regina at her core was much more of a hopeful, loving woman than anyone not knowing her ever could have anticipated.

There was also… damage, from a past that could fade but never be erased.

Their present was different now, though. Bright, and full of possibilities ready to be embraced.

Which reminded Zelena that there was still a conversation to be finished.

She squeezed her sister's hand lightly and locked gazes. _'So, you're up to it?'_ she asked silently. To consciously moving on, to new adventures, and traveling with Henry, and then staying in Storybrooke, and needing a rest from each other, and sticking together, and looking how their stories weaved with whatever worlds they found themselves in.

Regina smiled. She winced slightly at the small motion, and it didn't result in the widest of grins, but her eyes were shining along.

She mouthed, _'thank you.'_

And— _'yes.'_

* * *

So... I'm a slow writer? 7x20 gave me some of the courage to finally publish this though. There's going to be some sort of epilogue next.

Thank you for reading, and I'd appreciate reviews :)


	5. Chapter 5

"Morning, Mom."

Regina lazily blinked away the dark blotches hovering in her vision, her head still throbbing the rhythm of a dark, draining day. The slight dissonance faded into the background, however, at the sight of Henry smiling down at her. His head was propped on his hands as he knelt comfortably at Regina's bedside, observing every one of her movements.

As she groaned quietly, squinting against the intrusive light of the lamps, Henry scowled. "Well, sort of, anyway."

Regina sat up shakily, her hand drifting up to her pounding head. She scratched at a sore point on her forehead, wincing as the pain intensified.

"Easy, Mom," Henry muttered with a frown, gently taking Regina's hands in his to prevent her from drawing blood. Her palms were sticky and cloaked in a sandy, pine-smelling paste that cracked and crumbled when she moved her fingers. "The healers still don't have access to all of their stuff, so they could only do so much. Zelena did bring a whole bag of gauze, though, so now that you'reawake— _finally—_ we can apply that, too."

" _Finally_?" Regina repeated, her still heavy eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What happened? How long did I… sleep?" She carefully drew her hands back, running her fingers through her hair with a resignedly distasteful look. "And wherethe hell are we?"

"Sleep's a nice way of putting it." Henry rolled his eyes. "We were barely back here when you passed out mid-sentence." His lips pursed as he locked eyes with his mom defiantly. "You _really_ need to stop doing that—" his chin wobbled for a split second, and Regina wanted to give her brightest smile, _'oh, Henry,'_ but he caught himself just as quickly. "Either way, 'back here' as in the same tent we brought you last time you blacked out."

"No need to remind me quite so often," Regina scolded absentmindedly, her brows creasing in confusion. "I'll admit when you said 'home,' my first thought was Storybrooke."

Storybrooke, that had served as a home and a prison in changing terms, but had acted as the former for a far longer time—altered by the love and brightness of one charming family. It was by far the best home they had ever had, but did it fit right now?

Henry nodded in understanding—and goodness, did he understand, as that quaint fisher town had been the only home he'd known for many, many years. Then he'd grown up, and still, it was what he'd always associate with the word. He'd gained another definition of it, though. "I know, Mom. But when _I_ thought of home, I just wanted you waking up to live another day."

"Which we almost thought you wouldn't," Ella interjected quietly, stepping up behind Henry and crouching down beside Regina's bed on the ground. She worried her lip, before looking up to her earnestly. "We're so glad you finally did. Henry—we all were so worried."

"Oh." Regina nodded sharply, eyes closing as tears tugged at her lids. She could still feel the dark energy of the storm running through her veins; the rattling of the tent had become more of a background music since she'd last ventured out of its entrance, but it was still there, ever so slightly. Also, the smell of lamp oil now filled all of its corners, as if they'd been working for days without pause.

Which—

Regina opened her eyes again, straightening her sore back and tense shoulders, her hands folded on her lap. It was almost as if she was preparing herself for another round of senseless battle, only that, now— After a moment of thought, she allowed herself to relieve the rigidness of her posture, trying for a smile, and immediately, Henry's face broke into one, too. Her smile grew, now that Regina could feel its genuineness within her. "I'm glad, too," she assured, and found how much she meant it.

(And she looked at her son and thought, _'I'll always be glad to wake up to this,'_ even as she remembered countless times where it hadn't been quite enough.)

(Even as she knew that she _needed_ to have more than Henry to hold onto.)

(And she did.)

(Regina's smile was so genuine.)

(Because she had more. She had so much more.)

(Finally, she had _enough._ )

"Speaking of which," Regina said softly, her gaze set on the pair seated on the hard ground at her bedside, their eyes staring back at her brightly, relieved if still a little worried. "How long did I… was I—"

"You were out more than a _day,_ Mom," Henry answered tightly. He stood, then, fetching Ella a wooden stool that she drew close to the bed. After assuring that his—(whatever they were, strangers, friends, lovers, they probably didn't know any more than Regina did)—that Ella was seated comfortably, he sat on Regina's bed, weighing the straw mattress down significantly, and leaned over to where she was sitting with a faint smile and an inquisitively arched eyebrow.

He enveloped her in an embrace, crushing and clinging for a moment before loosening his arms around her shoulders, just holding on and breathing.

 _Breathing._

They both were. Regina adjusted her hand slightly to his head, hugging just the way she'd done when he was little. Soon, she could feel him relax completely, let go of whatever fear had been festering on him all the time she had been passed out, and she tried to make sure to at least soften her own guilt at it, too.

Because it didn't have any use right now except for hurting her, and really, those were the kind of things she neededto let go.

Not that they weren't going to talk more about yesterday, about the way it had affected all of them emotionally, but maybe at the moment, she could allow herself to process and breathe and _heal._

Henry pulled away gently, reluctantly, holding his mom's gaze, and apparently finding what he desired. "It's all going to be okay, now," he explained like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Ella behind them let a smile overtake her face.

Regina found herself nodding in agreement, before stopping in motion, her words cautious, regretful to disturb this tender moment. "The storm," she reminded them with a churning feeling in her stomach, nausea that was part dread and part—relief? Regina reminded herself that her chances of snuffing out the storm now were rapidly dwindling, and she considered going out there and trying, anyway. But she didn't feel that nagging, destructive desire to do so anymore. In fact, she noticed that she didn't feel it a possibility at all.

Some part of that was certainly due to her exhaustion, but more of it just felt like an easier way of breathing.

It felt like maybe, she didn't just remember what to live for again, but also _how_ to live.

Like maybe she didn't just faintly _want_ to live, but like she'd fightfor it as well.

Fight for _herself._

(And it was a sentiment that she'd felt before, when she'd gone up against the Queen and regained a part of herself in the process. It was a sentiment that maybe wouldn't stick at all times forever. But it was here now _,_ and she could as well cherish it.)

"What about the storm, Mom?" Henry inquired softly.

"It—" Regina faltered, frowning. "It is a real thunderstorm. It might have begun because Tremaine's minions thrust all their power into the air like amateurs, but nature… swept it all up willingly, and created the storm for them. It's a dangerous procedure, but—" Regina sighed, averting Henry's and Ella's questioning gazes, "—it did work. And now the storm feeds off magic, meaning as soon as I step out into the open, it just gets worse. The only way we could ever eradicate it is by using more power than it has, and I don't—Henry, it's going to rip us apart."

"I know," Henry answered within the same beat that Ella responded, "It's not," and they shared a smile.

"I know," he repeated, his smile the embodiment of calmness, and Regina felt like she'd missed something.

"He _knows,_ " Zelena reiterated, rolling her eyes as she bent down to give Regina a short, intense hug. Her bilious green dress was a different one than yesterday, but it was already covered in small flakes of mud and tiny strings of dusty fabric. (Which was still miles above Regina's, the poor thing.) Zelena, too, made herself comfortable on the bed.

Her blue eyes made a quick assessment before nodding her approval. "You look better," Zelena murmured, and gave her sister's hand a squeeze that was repeated right back at her. They shared a glance that resembled a smile, but not much more; Regina owed her sister a thousand times, but that wasn't how their relationship worked, so they settled into a quietly acknowledged relief that they were both okay. Into an unspoken contentment upon seeing her sister glowing again on Zelena's part, and silent thankfulness for the support on Regina's.

It all played out in little more than a few seconds, and if that wasn't how most of Regina's relationships worked those days. Knowing each other so well that it didn't _need_ for so many words all the time.

Regina thought she was grateful for that, even as she also knew that it was talking that helped through dark times.

Out loud, Zelena threw a look at her nephew and teased, "Dear Henry's always so mysterious. Snow-White-level hopeful, too," she huffed.

"I know it'll work," Henry insisted lightly, proceeding with a tiny smirk, "my theories always do, right, Mom?"

"Well, if you put it like that—" Regina tilted her head, aiming for a playful smile that made her eyes twinkle.

"Lovely phrase, sis," Zelena interrupted mockingly. "Your son could put anything in any possible _way_ and you'd agree."

"I'm counting on that," Henry explained matter-of-factly and raised an eyebrow, holding up a wooden mug that Regina hadn't seen appearing in his hand (admittedly, her attention span was still limited—it was as though one day's rest hadn't been sufficient). "Mom, this is water—"

"And you're drinking it," Zelena informed her cockily.

"And the healers said you might've got yourself a concussion, so this is some light food." Henry reached for something behind Ella's back, retrieving small, crumbling loaves of bread, and some purplish vegetables.

"And I'm eating it," Regina finished. "Got it." She took the food and drink and carefully tasted some of the water, suddenly finding it irritatingly unimaginable to have gone without it for so long. The bread was old and tasteless, but of the likes that were designed to be that way; the resistance had emergency supplies for cases like this, Regina concluded, pleased. It was things like these that made people great leaders instead of just decent ones, and Tiana would need to be brilliant if they intended to defeat Tremaine.

It was a battle she wanted to partake in, Regina realized with startling delight—no matter how much of a hero she'd become, _'someone to destroy'_ could still be so fulfilling a goal—a cause she was ready to fight for, ready to _stay_ for.

After they'd have vanquished this crippling threat of a storm.

Regina chewed on the crispy, violet roots, the taste in her mouth bittersweet. "Well, Henry," she questioned, "of what, exactly, does that theory of yours consist?"

Her son smiled proudly, taking the empty dishes out of her hand and stowing them away. "It's about love."

Regina stared, her fingers clutching the scratchy blanket beneath her, unconsciously ridding themselves of the itchy balm, and Henry noticed, covering them with his own, his calm smile confusingly persistent. "Excuse me?"

"It's simple. All the wind and the darkness increased so much in intensity when around you, Mom—fueled by your emotions. Right?"

"Not exactly," Regina contradicted softly, inclining her head in Henry's direction. Looking at him, she could perceive some positive traits that she'd passed on to him—she'd been much, but she'd always been resourceful when it came to the structures of magic, and so was he. "The reason why it's more… intense around me is because of my magic."

"Yes," Henry agreed, unaware of the eye roll exchanged between Ella and Zelena. His aunt had never been one to care much about magic theory beyond what opportunities it could provide her. "But the most basic rule is that magic equals emotion. Therefore, it could've had something to do with your being… upset. I'm on to something, right? So if the storm craves power, and we haven't got even more power to thwart it, what if we jab at another weakness entirely?" He took a deep breath, slowing down the nervous stream of words. "It gets stronger when fed with potent negative emotions, so it should be weakened by equally potent _positive_ ones."

"Like love," Regina concluded, biting her lip in thought. She looked up at her son, shining with pride. "You'd make such a good wizard, you know that?"

Henry grinned. "I'm a writer, remember? Basically the same thing." He looked giddy with excitement, completely drowning out the outside world. "Do you think I'm right, though?"

"I think you might be," Regina admitted. "Love is the solution to most magic problems, anyway, but this is better. This makes _sense._ "

("Magic is supposed to make sense?" Ella questioned doubtfully, raising her eyebrow at Zelena, who shrugged.

"My magic was always more about energy, but let them pretend it's all about logic. It makes them happy, I guess."

They chuckled, their conversation entirely unperceived by the objects of the matter.)

"True love's kiss it is, then?" Henry asked, suddenly seeming lost at the thought, insecure.

Regina's face softened in understanding. "You're wondering whose it's supposed to be. I wager there are some options to choose from, hm?"

"I hope so," Henry whispered. Then he looked at Ella and Zelena still playfully bantering, and Zelena's hand unusually gentle on her sister's back. At Ella, who had inched closer to them on her step stool, until she now, too, occupied a corner of the small bed. At his mom, her shoulders hunched a little tiredly, the gash on her forehead bright red on pale skin, her dark hair sticking to it. He looked at her half-closed eyes, a brightness to them that hadn't been there a mere day ago. He was sure that his true love's kissing her forehead would work just fine; the storm would die down quickly enough for the resistance not to starve, and after a few weeks, the darkness might drift away, too.

But when had a Mills in history, ever, settled for the slow and patient way?

If one ever had, there probably wasn't anybody who'd lived to tell the tale, Henry mused wryly.

"I know how we'll do this," he announced, and waited until Ella and Zelena had turned, regarding him with their full attention. "Do you trust me?"

"Always," his mom replied without a moment of thought.

"I suppose," Zelena responded, though her voice was free of doubt.

Ella hesitated a split second, her eyes flitting from Zelena, who was crossing her legs as if bored, to Regina, who gave a small, reassuring smile, to—Henry. He grinned openly, his eyes promising a world together, and Ella just had to return it, nodding. "Of course, I do."

"Thank you," Henry answered earnestly, reaching for Ella's hand, and she grasped his fingers, their hold warm and steady.

He looked at his aunt, and Zelena let her hand slide off her sister's back, finding her fingers. She squeezed, and Regina squeezed back. They, too, held on tightly to each other.

Henry turned his head, his eyes drifting to his mom, meeting her gaze firmly, and their fingers were already entwined. He leaned over to her, briefly nudging her shoulder, appreciating the enormous height difference that now existed between them, his eyes laughing.

He adjusted a little, and then Henry pressed a kiss to Regina's forehead, light and barely noticeable. They both closed their eyes for a second, taking in the moment and its feathery peace.

A tiny spark passed through all of them, happily jumping from heart to heart, twirling a delighted little dance. From it emerged a colorful wave, and with it came the familiar feeling of coming home, encasing them, just for a moment cloaking the world in bright emotion.

Just like that, it was over. The faint rustling of the tent quietened, then stopped entirely. The howling in the distance lost its insistence.

But no, it wasn't over.

Henry snuggled up at his mom's side, and she let go of his hand to engulf him in a hug instead. Zelena leaned against her sister, and Ella joined in at Henry's side. They sat there for a timeless while, enjoying the newfound quiet.

Everything had only just begun.

* * *

"Sun is coming up," Ella noted, bowing down to extinguish the heavily smelling lamps and candles. Wan sunlight filtered through the fabric surrounding them, painting the small room shades of golden. Apart from them, the tent was vacant; everyone else had been ushered to the bigger shelters, considerately leaving the family with an unconscious Regina.

Regina, who was alive and aware, now.

In fact, she was looking at him, the laugh lines around her eyes crinkling, and Henry smiled back, his heart slowly calming from the hammering worry it had endured the last two days.

"I want to see this," Regina declared suddenly, pushing herself up from the mattress, and Henry's arm was quick to shoot up to steady her. His mom gently detached his fingers, wincing a bit as she did. She stepped forward with a deep intake of breath, wavering ever so slightly.

Regina grasped at a wooden pole right at the entrance and kept herself upright with the full determined exhaustion and grace of a Queen. Bending her ankle slightly inwards so as not to put too much weight on it, she threw a look over her shoulder. Behind her, she met a row of concerned eyes and uncertain gazes.

"Aren't you going to come?" she asked lightly, laughing and arching a brow, and the part of her family that was crammed up here, on this tiny spot of all worlds, released a breath. Zelena stretched her legs, casually walking up to her sister, and Henry and Ella entwined hands, joining them without rush.

They strode out into the open together, as a united front.

Arms around each other, reveling in the cool air, morning dew wetting their boots, they watched as the sun broke fully through the clouds.

Dawn spectacularly flooded the sky, announcing the beginning of a new day.

New adventures.

New opportunities.

Yes, Regina thought—snuggling closer to her son and her sister—Henry had been right: Their story was far from over.

* * *

So—that's the end to this little piece! I hope you enjoyed; though I loved it, I struggled quite a bit writing this, so each and every encouragement from you was and is appreciated beyond words. Thank you! :)


End file.
